Nightmares and Flowers
by Oblivian03
Summary: They might have removed Phobos from power once again. They might have created a far better world than the one that existed before it. They might have no more need for wars or rebels. But that doesn't mean that the influence of those dark days is over for those who faced them. Set after Season 2.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics. This takes place around a month after the events of Season 2.**

* * *

 _"Hisssss-ssss-ssss-ssss."_

 _The hissing laughter echoed around the room like sinister thunder. It bounced painfully around in Caleb's head, aiming to cripple him and succeeding. Around the ex-rebel leader who had been forced to take up his mantel once more the other resistors groaned in agony._

 _"Hisss-sss-sss," the self declared Lord Cedric laughed. "Who should I sssstart with firsssst?"_

 _"How about no one!" Will cried as she struggled to her knees._

 _"Yeah! You should go on a diet. Being that fat can't be good for you." The unmistakable, yet pain filled, tones of Irma were quick to follow._

 _"Thissss one thinkssss she'ssss funny," the humungous monster said. "Hisss-sss-sss-sss. Let'ssss ssssee how you fare in my sssstomach."_

 _"Irma!"_

 _"No!"_

 _"Leave her alone you giant lizard!"_

 _Lord Cedric ignored the screaming girls, slithering towards the fallen water Guardian who was trying desperately to fly away on broken wings. The powers of her friends were useless against the invulnerable snake in their midst._

 _"You aren't going to eat me you overgrown garden worm!"_

 _"Garden worm? That'ssss new."_

 _Caleb struggled harder against the rocks that pinned him, dragging his foot free and limping to a stand. He tried to throw his own voice into the fray, but he failed having lost it somewhere between Phobos being swallowed and being smashed against the wall._

 _A jet of water struck Lord Cedric in the face. Caleb swore in his head, unable to do so out loud. He would not get there in time. He would not get there-_

 _The giant snake-man doubled over. When he straightened once again there was one less Guardian in the immediate room._

 _"Irma! Oh, you'll pay for that!" The onslaught of fire that struck Lord Cedric was as hot as Taranee's tone._

 _"Hisss-sss-sss-sss. Do you want to go next?"_

 _Then he launched himself through the air and the fire Guardian was consumed._

 _"No!"_

 _"Everyone stay out of his way!" Will's commanding tones cut through the loud cries of denial. Caleb was impressed. "We'll find a way to get them back."_

 _"I don't think sssso."_

 _As the hissing voice made another dive, Caleb managed to successfully fling a sword into its opened mouth. As Lord Cedric took the time to spit it away, Will ducked out of range._

 _"Miranda, my love, deal with that inssssolent sssspeck."_

 _"Yes, Master," the beast replied. She turned to face the rebel looking for all it was worth as though she were grinning beneath the great mounds of black hair that covered her._

 _Caleb backed away a step._

 _She crept forward._

 _He backed away another step._

 _Beyond the approaching monster Hay Lin tried to blow Lord Cedric off course as he chased after Will. The girls ducked and dodged and weaved, trying to avoid his tail and hands and gruesome mouth all at once._

 _"Leave them alone!"_

 _An array of vines and roots began to wind themselves around the giant snake. They were not fast enough in growing, however, to prevent Lord Cedric catching both the Air and Quintessence Guardians as his tail smashed them both out of the air. He lifted his arms and opened his great maw._

 _Caleb's vision was suddenly blocked by Miranda._

 _"Hisss-sss-sss-sss. You are only avoiding your fate, Guardian."_

 _The wall that pressed itself against Caleb's back was frustratingly real. The pain and terror that coursed through his body was even more so._

 _"I don't think Master would beguile me a small snack," Miranda rasped. "Although I do much prefer passling meat."_

 _Caleb flailed his hands for a weapon that didn't exist. He swallowed dryly and pushed further up against the ruined wall behind him._

 _"Blunk save Caleb!" a small green and smelly ball of fury called out as it flung itself through the air._

Blunk, no! _But the words of warning could not find a voice to speak them._

 _Miranda turned as the little passling dove atop her. The struggle was short but violent, the ball of hair doing its best to buck off her unwanted passenger. She eventually succeeded and Blunk came to a rolling stop as sticky webbing fixed him in place. Another shot ensured that no rebel leader would interfere with her meal._

 _"Now for a snack more to my liking," Miranda rasped as she closed in upon the immobile passling._

 _Blunk wailed and screamed. Caleb, as he watched horrified unable to draw his gaze away, could not even utter a groan of despair. Soon enough it was over and Caleb found himself wishing that he could still smell passling's potent stench in the air and not the remains of Miranda's meal._

 _"Delicious," came the female fiend's rasping voice._

 _Across from them Lord Cedric broke free of the vines restricting him._

 _"I like my flowerssss crushed."_

 _"No!" Caleb had finally found his voice, but it came out as silent as the figures that now littered the floor. Beyond desperate, he tried again. "Leave her alone!"_

 _Nothing. Not a peep. Not a squeak. Just mocking silence. So he did the next best thing to draw attention to himself._

 _Adrenaline surging through him like a white hot fire, Caleb managed to pull free of Miranda's webbing. Dodging to the side, he swept up a stray shield and lobbed it across the room straight into the monster's face._

 _The action did nothing as it clanged away and Lord Cedric emerged from his protective shield. As yet another figure was reduced to screaming, Caleb swept up yet another shield, aimed and then threw. The ground rumbled and shook, but neither shield nor earthquake did any good._

 _Caleb resorted to throwing whatever he could get his hands on, struggling to run closer and dodge Miranda's incessant attacks at the same time. His lungs were raw from shouting words that could not reach the air. It did no good. Soon enough the fairer, louder half of the screaming duo was silenced as Lord Cedric bent forward once more._

 _Then the power-crazed eyes turned onto him._

The boy – now almost a man – gasped softly, silently into the night. He looked around the darkened room, shivering from more than just having kicked off the last of the sheets that had been clinging to the bed for dear life when he had bolted upright. A trail of sweat dripped down the back of his neck, drying rapidly in the air.

 _It was just a dream. Just a dream._

Slowly, Caleb regulated his breathing, but he could not make himself lay back against the mattress and close his eyes. His instincts – honed to a suspicious point under Phobos' despot rule and rekindled by the recent debacle with Nar… with his… _her_ , then Phobos once again, and then 'Lord' Cedric – would not allow him to. _Danger!_ they shouted, despite the only danger being inside the youth's own head.

 _It was just a dream._

Caleb inhaled deeply. He imagined he could detect the scent of flowers, sweet, sticky, overpowering. Soothing. A delicate musk that embraced him in a blonde and silken warmth, that covered him with a sluggish security. It called to him in a voice like the rich hues of a corn field, gently pulling his eyelids closer and closer together…

 _Danger!_ the warning bells in his muddled head screamed.

It seemed he would be getting no more sleep that night.

 _It was just a dream._

Sighing to himself, Caleb swung his feet over the edge of his bed and into the twisted pile of blankets that pooled on the floor. Slipping slightly in the material, he moved blindly across the room to pull on a shirt and breeches in place of his sweaty nightclothes. Finished changing, he turned to where his boots stood to attention with his brown coat hanging dutifully above.

"I don't think I'll be going outside," he muttered to himself. Nevertheless, the ex-rebel leader and current commander of the Queen's guards shrugged on the rough material of his coat. At a second thought he took up his boots as well, because one never knew.

With one last glance round his room – he discretely secured a small knife by his side – Caleb padded barefoot to his door with his boots swinging from one hand. Breathing in again, disappointed at the lack of flowers scenting the air, he pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the bowels of the palace.

 _Danger!_ came the muted call in his head. The youth shook his head clear of the sound. If there was real danger one of the sentries would have seen it and raised the alarm.

Glancing out a window, Caleb noted that the guards had not yet changed shifts from when he had reluctantly trodden off to bed under the stern orders of both Elyon and his father. He had not been getting enough sleep, they had said. Rubbing his bleary eyes, the commander's mouth twitched in a humourless smile. Neither would be happy that this would be yet another sleepless night for him. Still, they were right in that he was growing gradually more tired as the days passed. Between reorganising the guard and dismantling the signs of Phobos' second, briefer rule and following up on rumours that were too dangerous to leave alone, Caleb barely had time to achieve that state of repose in which the terrors in his head could break loose.

The boy shuddered at the still fresh memory of what had woken him. Perhaps he could see if his father was awake.

Pausing in his aimless strides, the Meridian commander decided against such action. He knew that his father was struggling with sleep himself, those of his nightmares not featuring the underwater mines Caleb suspected, with no small amount of guilt, were somehow inspired by him. Not even he, however, had seemed as tired as his son in the past week.

"Not like I haven't gone without sleep before," the ex-rebel muttered to himself. It didn't sound joking in nature. Caleb wasn't sure if it was supposed to. Rather than dwell on it, he continued moving.

Glancing out another window, the young commander finally decided on a destination. The grounds surrounding the palace were peaceful enough, especially now that they lacked Phobos' own personal taste of evil.

If those on guard noticed the weary form slipping between them through the palace doors, they gave no sign of it. Nor did those stationed around the naturally darkened grounds, softly exchanging greetings and farewells as they changed for the next shift.

Moving like a shadow across the night sky, Caleb slunk towards the royal gardens near the entrance gate. The odd torch flickered in the slight breeze and the youth grinned to himself, congratulating his mind for opting to wear a coat. He breathed in the scented air. There was no danger here.

Folding his legs beneath him, Caleb discarded his boots and leant back onto the cool earth on his hands. He attempted to suppress a yawn and then gave in, relishing in the tranquility the simple night could bring. If only he could experience the same sense of peace in his bed. Nevertheless, he could enjoy the peace he had found in that moment without tainting it with the desire for something he could not have or complaints of what he could not control.

The young commander stared out into the cool night for a long while, long enough for light to tentatively grasp Meridian once more. As he sat, he thought. Perhaps he could convince Aldarn to hide Drake's beloved red cape when morning had more convincingly taken the sky. Or maybe he could see if he could locate his strange and smelly passling friend, Blunk, and take a much desired day off on Earth, to reassure himself that it was merely a dream…

Movement behind him made the ex-rebel tense in preparation. His fingers drifted every so subtly to the knife concealed at his side. Whatever it was that thought it could sneak up on him would severely regret their mistake.

 _Danger!_ the little, adrenaline driven voice in his head called.

Arms suddenly threw themselves around his shoulders and a loud voice greeted his ear. "Caleb! What are you doing here?"

Turning, fingers dropping back to the grassy ground, Caleb regarded Elyon with the look of a startled rabbit. He blinked in surprise at the first traces of golden rays behind her. When he had last looked at the sky it had been completely black. _Must have lost track of time…_ A tug on his hand drew his attention back to his insistent royal charge.

Elyon took her commander's lack of reply in a cheerful stride. Despite dawn being a snail's step away, and her looking as though she too had had a rough night, the heart of Meridian seemed as jovial as ever. So jovial, in fact, that she happily flung herself down on the ground next to him, never one to waste the opportunity to show off her powers of flight in the process.

"What are you doing up at this time, my Queen?" Caleb asked.

"It's Elyon," the girl replied insistently. She paused. "I had a nightmare."

Caleb raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"It was, well, it was about my brother," Elyon started. "I was trapped on the throne, only Cornelia never came. I just sat there struggling for what seemed like forever and _he_ was laughing at me as the vines grew tighter and tighter. Then the light faded. It got darker and darker, but the darkness wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from in me. He was stealing the light from in me, and making it darker and he was laughing and _laughing…_ "

She paused, getting herself under control. The Queen of Meridian smiled thankfully at Caleb as he took her hand and squeezed it, reassuring her that the darkness was merely inside her imagination and that no light would be stolen while he was around to guard it. With newfound confidence in the way things had turned out, Elyon forced herself to continue.

"It went pitch black, and I could still hear him. That's when it happened." She paused again and sniffed, seemingly trying not to cry. "I could see. It was still completely black, but I could see. And Cornelia was there, and Will and Hay Lin and Irma and Taranee – they were all _there._ "

"What do you mean?" Caleb asked, barely able to force the words out. He liked this section of the palace grounds because it was the sweetest smelling throughout the year, but now it seemed as though all the flora was rotting away. It reminded him of crushed flowers.

 _It was just a dream._

"They were…they were…" Elyon trailed off, glancing at her commander.

She seemed to see something in his face that made her think better of continuing. Or perhaps she merely could give no voice to what she had seen in her head. Caleb didn't know if his sleep would be better or worse because of it. The way she had said _there_ … The young commander suppressed a shudder.

For a while, the ruler of Meridian said nothing. Caleb saw no reason to break her silence. The girl had taken to twisting her hands in the grey-blue cloth of her dress. Her breathing shook, but no sobs were forthcoming. She was a Queen. She was stronger than that. She had to be to survive what had happened to her. Yet, it was clear the child within her still longed to be hugged.

Caleb obliged, sweeping his arms around the Meridian girl who had been raised on Earth.

"Don't worry. Everyone gets nightmares," he said. That probably have away more about him than the ex-rebel wanted it to, but, then again, there was no shame in waking because of something you feared. His father had told him that when he had been reduced to tears by his first nightmare, when he was a little boy scared by monsters that didn't exist.

Caleb thought about the monsters that had and did exist: Phobos, Miranda, Cedric, Nar… Cedric. He looked to Elyon, words of further comfort dying before they even reached his tongue. Maybe he needed to be told again.

His lapse back into silence did not matter. It seemed all Elyon needed was the contact of another flesh and blood person to reassure her that this world, that this thing Caleb secretly called a paradise – and secretly wept over to himself when it seemed that paradise had been rendered a living hell once again – was real. Though he would never admit it vocally, Caleb desired that same reassurance.

They had planned for Phobos to take Meridian back, him and Will and the others – they had counted on it – and despite a few hitches Phobos was back in his cell and Meridian once again free. That, however, didn't stop Caleb's fear that he would suddenly wake up and Aldarn would be at his side worrying about the lack of supplies and Drake worrying about the lack of weapons and his father still dead, whilst everything about this paradise had been a dream, an illusion like his… _she_ was caught in. He feared that it would turn out this world was not real and he did not think he could survive such a blow.

So he hugged Elyon all the tighter and closed his eyes, pretending he could detect a whiff of flowery sweetness in the air.

The pair soon drew away from each other in mutual agreement. They went back to sitting companionably, watching as the snail of a sun decide it was worth putting in a full appearance for the day.

"Why haven't you got shoes on?" Elyon asked suddenly.

Caleb looked down at his bare feet as if he had forgotten he had carried his boots instead of wearing them. "Huh."

"How long have you been out here?" his companion questioned suspiciously. "And you can't lie to me. I'm the Queen."

Caleb smiled slightly at that, remembering the last time his Queen had said those words to him. He was glad Cornelia had not insisted on ice-skating again, although there was always the threat lurking in the background of her more ridiculous requests.

"A while," was all he said. He struggled to contain a defiant yawn.

"Hmphf. Well, I suppose you have duties you'll need to be attending to shortly," Elyon stated. "Which I am sure can wait until _after_ noon when you've gotten some decent sleep. In fact, I am completely certain I can find others to complete your duties if you happen to sleep through the entire day."

Caleb glanced at the girl's face. No, not a girl, not after what she had experienced – although she was still a child in many respects and still had much to learn about ruling – and not in that moment as she stared her battle-worn head commander down, daring him to challenge her not so subtle orders.

He couldn't help it. He laughed.

Elyon smiled softly at the ex-rebel, at the ex-child, before making to stand. "I think you'll want to stay here to finish watching the sun rise. It's magnificent once all the colours get going. Hay Lin would love to paint something like it if she knew – someone might have to tell her… Then I want you off to bed and no arguing and _no_ getting out of it. I trust your father will make sure you obey my commands."

She left, skipping along the ground as though she were a bunny. Caleb felt the familiar presence that had been lurking behind him for a short while sit beside him. _A dastardly, devious bunny,_ the tired commander thought as he watched Elyon escape into the distance, _definitely a dastardly, devious bunny. She's been around the other girls too long. And demanding. Why are all the girls from Earth so demanding?_

For a while father and son said nothing. They simply sat, watching the brilliant colours surrounding the sun fade to a simple blue. Then the older of the two shifted.

"Why did you not come to me?" If there was a note of hurt in the words, neither acknowledged it.

"I didn't want to wake you," Caleb replied, looking down at his shoeless feet.

Julian sighed. This, it seemed, would not be as easy as he had hoped. "What was it about?"

"Does it matter?" Taking in his father's unimpressed gaze, Caleb exhaled a gush of breath and turned his shoulders in on himself. "It was just a dream. It wasn't real. Everyone is alright and alive and it was just a dream."

"It's alright to be afraid, son."

Caleb merely bowed his head. They were well enough words to say, but all the lessons he had learned as a rebel and a rebel leader sung a different tune to the invitation being subtly offered. One could be afraid, yes, but one could not show it. One could have nightmares about giant snakes consuming everything in their path, but one could not let it affect their work. Better to keep it to yourself and deal with it. If you could not deal with it, then ignore it, but never let it affect your work. It was an aspect of himself that Caleb was not particularly keen on keeping, and he was not naive enough to think he could change it any time soon. Perhaps he would never take up the invitation his father had offered him out of kindness and love and understanding, out of comfort to a child Caleb feared did not exist anymore.

It was that last thought that made a deep, hollow sorrow engulf the young commander's hunched frame once more.

After the silence had stretched on for a good while and the sun had finally managed to clamber a little higher in the sky than the immediate horizon, Julian stood and tugged his solemn son up by the arm.

"Come on," he said. "Let it not be said we disobeyed the Queen's direct orders."

Caleb stood and meekly let himself by led by the older man. Halfway across the yard he stopped and pulled free from his father's grasp, the impenetrable mask of a leader already falling back into place.

"I should be getting to the food hall. I need to meet with Drake and Vathek before I replace Aldarn for the duty of guarding the Queen. He won't be happy if he ends up with a double shift because I can't keep my eyes open for several more hours," the young commander said with no small touch of authority. His words and the mask that had settled over his face, however, did nothing to stop a large yawn breaking through.

Julian gave a wide, bearded smile and shook his head. "Aldarn will not mind. Besides, You will find that no one will allow you to do anything today except sleep, on the Queen's orders. I believe they have been told to escort you back to your room – with due force if necessary – if you appear anywhere outside of its vicinity between now and dinner."

His son groaned and rubbed his eyes in weary frustration. "Doesn't she understand that I've got things that need doing? The defences of the palace need to be reworked so we aren't merely dependent on Elyon's powers or the guardians to save us. I need to talk to Vathek about the security of the jail, and find _someone_ who has _some_ knowledge about the veil and breaches in it to determine the likelihood of a stray portal ever opening in Phobos' or Cedric's cell like it did for Nar… And I need to see about Raythor – he mentioned something was going on in the west, although I'm still unsure as to how much to trust him, however, Drake has reported much the same…"

Julian looked at Caleb as they continued to walk up the stair to the palace entrance. He had noticed the pause in his son's speech, the outright refusal to say his mother's name. It was understandable, albeit concerning to the man who had hoped the revelation, when it happened, had not affected the boy as strongly as it appeared to. Not that he himself was not brought to a state of confliction over _that_ name. Loathing may have been a strong word, hatred too far over one side for their history and creation, but anger was the most prominent amongst the mess of emotions her revelation and subsequent attempt to kill their child had spurred.

Still, at least his son was alive. Given all that they had face in the last years, given all that _he_ had faced – especially since Julian's own initial capture – nearly always alone save a passling who had proved more competent than expected, Julian thought it was nothing short of a miracle. And he still did not know everything his son had gone through when he had been enslaved and even after his unexpected rescue. But he could imagine it.

Julian closed his eyes. He had woken earlier than usual that morning, haunted by a desperate mother's words _"but who looks after Caleb?"_ and the toppling of a head that had screamed 'too late' and made him sick to his core. Shaking himself free of the horrible dream and even more horrible 'what ifs', the man unconsciously moved closer to his son. 'What if' didn't bear thinking about.

"…And someone has to determine what the smell in Blunk's quarters is which will probably fall to _me_ , and its not like I can leave everything until-"

Julian held up a hand and Caleb's tirade stumbled to a halt.

"You do not have to do it alone," the man said seriously. "And you have been running yourself ragged trying to do everything all at once. Meridian can survive one day without you, son." He paused and regarded said son with a furrowed brow. "Don't make me lock the door behind me when we get to your room."

Caleb, wisely, did not remark out loud and did his best to school his face into an impassive front. Irma would have been proud. Still, he couldn't help the stray thought that drifted across his mind in rebellion – _there's still the window._

How many times had he jumped out a window in the past years? The memories brought back the contradictory desires to grin with an overblown sense of confidence and curl up in a corner rocking away the painful images. Caleb did neither, settling for watching for an opportunity to slip away from his father.

There was none.

That fact did not surprise Caleb in the slightest. His father had raised him, taught him, _knew_ him. He would know of how his son might attempt to escape his temporary escort, and, if Caleb were being truly honest, he was tired enough to let several lesser known opportunities slip by him. The prospect of bed was, frustratingly, becoming more and more enticing…

All at once they were at the door to his room. So suddenly did it occur in Caleb's exhausted brain that he would have walked straight into it had his father not grabbed his shoulder and thrown open the door at the same time. Julian was forced to halt, however, as Caleb refused to take another cross the room's threshold.

"It's alright, son." He was not sure if the boy was seeing something visible only to him in the air of the room or simply afraid of what he might see should he enter, but it did not matter. "There's nothing here to fear. It is alright. They are safe. You are safe. It's alright."

After a few more moments, and with several more murmured reassurances, Caleb relaxed just enough for Julian to move forward once more. The pair stepped into the room, one guiding the other's near trance-like state.

Julian smiled to himself as his son continued to stumble along the floor, his eyes further closed than they were open. As much as the youth might deny it, his body knew what it needed and at this point seemed to think even the floor would serve well enough for a bed.

"Come on," he said, gripping his swaying son a little more firmly by the shoulder to avoid the boy becoming a heap on the floor.

The man carefully guided Caleb towards the bed, making sure to place the boots he had carried up from the gardens in their rightful place. He winced a little – and not for the first time – at the slightly smudged footprints his son had left upon the floor in his wake. The maids would not be pleased. Deciding there was nothing he could do about it, Julian sat the half-asleep boy on the bed.

"There," he spoke in a more fatherly manner than he had grown accustomed to using. He gently cupped his child's face in his hand. "Sleep, son. Meridian will still be standing tomorrow."

Caleb yawned, having long since given up the battle against them. He managed a jumbled mumble, something crossed between 'thanks' and 'love you'. Julian pressed his lips against his son's forehead and murmured his love back. Brushing his fingers tenderly down the length of Caleb's face, the man patiently coaxed the youth to remove his arms from his beloved coat. He even more patiently drew the knife from its place at the boy's side and placed it upon the table by the bed.

Standing, Julian brushed his hand against his son's cheek once more. He smiled softly and moved back across the room to hang the coat on its hook before retreating for good. He paused to close the door behind him leaving the young commander alone to face the merciful grip of rest.

From his place on the bed Caleb inhaled and smiled as the ghostly scent of flowers filled his nose. _It was just a dream._ Perhaps he would sleep, until noon at least, and then perhaps he would take tomorrow off and make a trip to Earth – he was sure he could find some believable pretense or another, although he knew he would be fooling no-one… It had been a while since he had last seen the Guardians, although a certain blonde had visited twice in the past two weeks to ensure, in her own words, 'that her best friend was not getting overwhelmed by the constant presence of a certain high-end and overly devoted member of her guard'.

Distinctly happier than he had been when he had woken – or in the past several days – Caleb flopped back onto the sheets on his bed. Someone had replaced them in the time he had been out, yet the young commander could not bring himself to care about the who or why. Mind becoming more and more lethargic as he finally allowed himself to relax, Caleb drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 **There you go. I've been watching episodes recently and wanted to write something about how the incidents in season 1 and 2 would have realistically affected Caleb (and the others to a lesser degree). After all, he was would have been involved in the rebel movement for a good part of his life (even if it was just watching) given who his father was, and his experiences as the rebel leader would have made him suspicious, constantly on guard and high strung – not to mention his constant dangerous/near-death experiences in general. The fact that the paradise of a healing Meridian after season 1 was destroyed in season 2 (especially given the fact it reverted back to hell under Phobos at least for a short while), would have primed the instincts that grew in Caleb under the rebellion. In short, I think he would be suffering from some mild PTSD or something (i.e. nightmares, etc.) as well as some 'mummy' issues.**

 **I'm also working under the assumption that CxC still works after the end of season 2.**

 **In any case, I hoped you enjoyed it (and hope even more that you might be willing to leave a review). I have a second part that I will likely upload once I write it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **This chapter follows the previous one almost immediately (give or take several hours to half a day).**

* * *

" _Come on_ , Vathek!"

"You know what the Queen ordered. Besides, you need the sleep."

"I slept already!"

"That does not change my orders."

"I didn't think she was serious," Caleb muttered under his breath knowing it would make for a weak argument to the one currently dragging him by the arm back to his room.

Despite being manhandled by a being three times his size as he begged and complained like a petulant teenager, the young commander still maintained some semblance of dignity. Even more miraculously it almost seemed as though he were walking under his own power and intentions. Neither fact did anything to curb his foul mood.

"You didn't have to spring on me like that. In fact, you could have left me well alone and we'd both be all the better for it."

"If you do not want to get caught then next time do not sneeze."

"It's not _my_ fault they didn't dust behind the suits of armour," came the defiant reply.

"It is not _their_ fault you chose to hide there," Vathek replied. He halted as they drew up to the door to Caleb's room. "In you go."

The young commander was politely allowed in first, not in the least because Vathek didn't trust him not to escape the moment he turned his back on him. Caleb took an unhealthy amount of pride from that fact.

His big blue guard glanced around his messy, yet somehow still sparse room. "At least this is nicer than some of the other places you've been kept in," he commented dryly.

"Don't remind me," Caleb muttered darkly. He suppressed a shudder and pulled his spiraling thoughts together for a final attempt at freedom. "Can't you just overlook the fact that I'm not asleep in my room? Or, better yet, pretend that I am? Elyon won't know the difference if you don't tell her."

Vathek gave the youth a look somewhere between disbelief and sympathy. He took in the eyes that were still shadowed despite the boy's protests he had slept. "You need rest, Caleb."

The human in question chose to make no remark about failing to get much rest even when he tried. "Vathek…"

"You would be in agreement if this were the Rebellion-"

"But it's not!" Caleb drew in an almost shake free breath. "There are things I need to do."

"And they can wait a while longer," Vathek replied firmly. "You are of no use to anyone if you cannot keep your eyes open."

"Fine!" Caleb threw his arms into the air in exasperation. "Fine. If you are all set on keeping me here then so be it, but I will not be dissuaded from my work." He fixed his old friend with a steely eye. "So, Vathek, give me your analysis on the integrity of the prison and its ability to withstand any escape attempt."

Vathek had the good sense not to laugh. He could not, however, stop an amused smile from spreading across his face. "No, Caleb."

The head commander frowned dangerously. "I order you to give me a report."

"And the _Queen_ has given me orders that you are not to do anything more strenuous today than determine whether you will sleep with the window open or closed." His grin grew a shade more sympathetic. "I am sorry, my friend, but in this instance you have been outranked."

"I can _see_ that," Caleb muttered.

The jailer regarded him with a raised eyebrow and shook his head. He had been on his way to the food hall when he had caught the young human sulking around in an attempt not to be seen whilst he tried to do who knew what. Duty bound, he had snuck up behind the former rebel leader and nabbed him. His stomach did not appreciate the delay and let this fact be known as it growled menacingly.

"You should eat something."

Vathek waved his hand dismissively at the youngster's smart comment, the latter having used it several times in the journey from the entrance hall – how had he gotten so far without being seen? – to his room as an attempt to weasel his way out of confinement. The jailer backed towards the door, keeping his eyes on his slippery charge. He pointed a large blue finger at the boy.

"Now _stay_ ," he said with threats of worse should Caleb attempt to escape again. "And try to get some sleep."

"I told you before, I've already-"

The door clicked shut behind the prison warden as he left. Shortly after an unfamiliar set of footsteps made their home just outside, a few murmurs passing between Vathek and the guard before the former left the latter to it, effectively imprisoning the ex-rebel in his room. At least it felt like imprisonment.

 _"Gees_ Mum, _most kids just get grounded."_

Perhaps he could climb out the window…

 _"This time I'll take care of them permanently."_

Yes, he would definitely take the window.

Caleb sent another glance to the door, dropping the hand he had placed unconsciously against his throat. He adjusted his coat from where Vathek's grip had sent it askew, reassured that the new guard outside his door would not be coming in any time soon. The young commander strode to the large window in his room. He did not have a balcony – he had not wanted one – but this window was ideal for making hasty and not-so-hasty, more low-key escapes.

Setting one booted foot against the windowsill, and then the other, Caleb softly pushed open the glass. His back was tense, ears listening for any unusual sound that might sneak upon him in his vulnerable position. If Mr Huggles had scurried past in his quietest squirrel form the former rebel leader would have heard him before he had gotten three steps. A drop of sweat drifted absently down the back of Caleb's collar making him shiver. It _was_ a long way down…

He squinted at the midday sun. If Elyon or Vathek – or his father for that matter – thought he would be spending the entire day doing nothing in his room, they could think again. He looked down once more. _I've survived higher._

Resolved steadied, but shoulders still tense waiting for… _something_ , Caleb sidled further forward on his perch. He shifted his grip in preparation to throw one leg over the window's edge and found it took all of his instincts and considerable experience not to leap back as a face suddenly appeared in front of his nose.

"Argh! Blunk!"

Shadowy thoughts of a giant hairy beast and silent echoes of agonized wails made the young commander pause for a moment's breath. A gloved hand stretched out to push the green face still disturbingly close to his own away, quietly noting the realness of the stinking flesh. _Just a dream…_

Caleb pressed a hand to his rapidly beating heat, trying to slow it out of sheer will. "What are you doing out here?"

The passling swung on the sturdy vine that had grown near his best friend's window – the ex-rebel had chosen the room because of it; the vine added to ists escape potential – and used one hand to make what Caleb thought was a very good impression of Gargoyle or very poor impression of Elyon. "Blunk guarding Caleb's window."

"Why?"

"So Caleb doesn't escape."

" _Why?"_

"Queen says Caleb needs sleep. Blunk agree. Queen ask Blunk to guard Caleb's window. Blunk say yes for Caleb's own good."

Caleb slammed the heel of his right hand into his forehead. He did _not_ feel like dealing with this now. "She wasn't being serious."

"Blunk say different."

"Of _course_ you do." He paused. "How long have you been out there? No, wait. I don't want to know."

Blunk huffed and somehow managed to cross his arms while still clinging to the vine. "Caleb not grateful to Blunk."

"Not when you're forcing me to stay in here!"

Blunk regarded the young human with a searching look. "Caleb not like being confined?"

"No, Blunk. I don't," Caleb sighed.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the window frame, a fresh wave of weariness washing over him. His brief sleep had replenished him a small amount, but the fatigue from the days before and his bad night still lingered. Little 'Lord' Cedrics still raced about his head, chasing flowers and passlings and throwing the boy further off balance. He needed to _do_ something to set himself at ease and sleep was not it. Neither was being forced – albeit out of caring concern – to stay in his room.

He started as a large and smelly hand patted the top of his head. "Caleb not worry. Blunk take care of Caleb like Caleb take care of Blunk."

Despite himself, the words drew a small smile from the ex-rebel.

The sound of a ruckus outside drew Caleb's attention. He leaned forward, Blunk crying out as he grabbed onto the young commander's coat in an attempt to stabilise him against the pull of gravity.

A trail of people were stumbling inside the palace gates, mostly civilians by their look with a few guards following behind. More guards were grabbing their weapons and heading out of the gate towards the sound of things smashing. The warning horn blew for a few moments, before sinking into silence.

"Dammit." Caleb leapt back from the window, feet landing firmly on his bedroom floor. Blunk flailed behind him at the sudden lack of resistance.

The Meridian commander dashed across his room at record speed. He swung open the door and was met by the guard's eyebrow raised in amusement and no small amount of discouragement. Caleb slammed the door shut and moved back to the window.

"Let me down."

"If they need Caleb they will fetch Caleb."

"Move aside so I can get down, Blunk."

"Caleb not go out window," the passling said stubbornly, ignoring the dangerous tone.

"Argh!" the young commander rubbed a hand down his face in exasperation. He shook himself. _Think._ He had been in worse situations than this before. He _had_ been in worse situations than this before. Somehow that was not a reassuring thought. " _Please_ , Blunk. I have to get down there!"

"No."

"There could be wounded!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Come on!" Realising that he was getting nowhere with his small, green – and typically rank smelling – friend he decided to take a different approach. "What if I gave you a well worn shirt? It even has mud on it. Lots and lots of mud."

"Caleb not tempt Blunk!"

"Alright, alright," he muttered, pacifying his indignant friend.

Caleb began to pace around his room, distinctly aware in a hyper vigilant way of Blunk's eyes following him back and forth. There had been a skirmish – that much he could gather from his distant window. He could not, however, tell how many had been injured in the attack, where the attack had occurred or even if there had been an attack at all. It was beyond frustrating. There could be people out there injured, _dying,_ and he was trapped in here, no good to anyone least of all those who needed it the most.

The former rebel leader ignored the rapid pounding of his heart, settling for clenching his hands into too tight fists. He winced as his nails managed to bite into the surface skin through the cloth of his gloves, but continued pacing frantically. He needed to find a way down. He needed to figure out what was happening, who was hurt, what he could do to stop it.

"What is _going_ on?"

Blunk shook his head. "Caleb stay here."

The young commander looked at his small friend. "What if you find out some information for me?" If he could make an escape while Blunk was gone, all the better.

"Caleb want Blunk find out information and tell him?"

"Yes! _Please!_ "

The passling shook his head again. "Blunk supposed to stay here. Not leave for anything."

"I could jump out the window like I have before," came Caleb's next sardonic words.

"No! Blunk will scream for guards if Caleb try to jump!" To the latter's surprise, there were tears forming in the passling's eyes.

"I'm sorry," the young human quickly apologised in earnest. "Alright, I won't jump. I'm sorry."

His good friend sniffed. "Blunk not want Caleb to go splat."

Caleb flinched at the blunt words. He pat Blunk on the furry top of his hand. "Caleb won't go splat. Caleb promise."

Finding himself in a position of defeat once more. He could not leave and he _needed_ to find out what was going on. _There could be people dying out there…_ The beginnings of frustrated wetness began to form in his own eyes. He felt utterly useless.

"Blunk, _please._ I _need_ to know."

"But Blunk can't leave." The passling was clearly torn by his friend's state of upset.

"Blunk…"

"Hold your horses, you big bad commander. It's been dealt with and everyone's fine. No injuries or deaths, just my awesomeness taking down the villain."

The scent of flowers filled the air outside the window, seeping into Caleb's room with a shameless attitude and doing battle with the stench that was Blunk. The young commander leaned sagged in relief. _No deaths._

"Blunk will find out news," the passling swore at last. "If Caleb promises to stay here."

The young human let out a defeated sigh. "Caleb promises to stay here."

The scent of flowers grew stronger, as if it was laughing in the air. Caleb loosed a half-hearted glare at the world.

"Caleb be good and sleep," Blunk said in parting, patting the ex-rebel leader upon the head as though he were a dog.

The laughing scent seemed to grow louder.

"Yeah, yeah…" When the laughing continued he spoke again. "It's not _that_ funny!"

The passling, meanwhile, did not remove his insistent gaze from his human friend. "Caleb go to sleep."

The human opened his mouth and then closed it, giving up the argument once and for all. "Fine! _Fine._ "

He stalked to the bed and threw himself atop it, still fully dressed in boots and all. To the amusement of the others watching he was asleep within minutes.

Blunk hesitated as he dropped from the window. The floral scent grew stronger around the bed.

"It's alright. I'll watch him. He won't go anywhere while I'm here."

Blunk smiled at the figure and shot one last glance towards his sleeping friend. Then he scurried across the floor to the door. There was a half startled, gagging noise as the rank smelling creature exited past the feet of the guard outside and then silence reigned the room, disturbed only by the even breaths of its sleeping occupant.

The flowers smiled lovingly into the air.

* * *

"He is not happy about the confinement," Vathek said as he sat at the table. The large blue jailer rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a hearty meal.

"He will be even less happy about it when he learns of what occurred today without him there to take part," Julian commented from his own seat.

Elyon brushed away their concern. "Yes, but the Guardians manage to deal with it with little damage to anything. No one was injured-"

"Shows what _you_ know. Pride can be injured and we were almost drowned," a resentful voice muttered to her right.

"-And the beast was destroyed almost as soon as it appeared." The young girl paused. "Do we know what it was?"

"No," Julian answered. "At least not as of yet, but we will hopefully find out with some research."

"For something that we know nothing about it sure had a blast of a time trying to drown us. Drown us I tell you! _Drown_ us on _my_ turf!"

Elyon ignored the continued muttering. "I have complete trust that you will," she said, smiling. "Now, tomorrow I thought we could-"

She choked off, almost gagging before regaining control of the reflex. The unfortunate person to her right was having far more trouble.

"Ugh, Blunk! What did you roll in? Manure?"

"Irma just jealous of Blunk's natural odour."

"Sure," the Water Guardian strung out, the word dripping with sarcasm.

"What are you doing here?" Hay Lin asked cheerfully.

"Caleb sleeping. Blunk hungry so Blunk look for food," the passling said in answer as he wandered past. One green hand lifted to snag a hunk of bread off the plate of the nearest unfortunate jailer.

Elyon smiled as Vathek realised the thievery that had taken place. "Thank you for watching him, Blunk."

"For Caleb, Blunk do anything." He thought for a moment as he chewed. "Almost anything," he amended.

"Hey!" Vathek growled at the passling who had stolen yet another portion of his meal. Blunk swallowed the stolen goods unperturbed.

"Are you sure he won't try to escape through the window without you there?" Julian asked in concern. The drop from his window was over fifty feet and his son was still unlikely to be fully rested. Such a climb in such a state would not be the wisest of ideas.

"Blunk sure," the passling replied with an air of hidden, but harmless knowledge. "A friend of Blunk watch Caleb sleep while Blunk eat. Pretty blonde friend."

Elyon smiled in a manner that would have had said friend and Caleb worried if they saw it. "A pretty blonde is watching him sleep, huh? How interesting."

On either side of her, Will and Irma snorted into their drinks. Even Taranee cracked a knowing grin as she stretched her cramping arms.

"Uh-uh," Hay Lin broke in, hoping to take control of the situation before it snowballed into a Cedric-sized problem. "Promise me you won't tease them about this."

"Who, us?" Taranee asked.

"Never," came Irma's quite unconvincing drawl. Will merely snorted louder into her drink.

"It is fun making my loud-mouthed commander squirm," Elyon said with a smile.

Julian shook his head as he dipped his spoon into his bowl for another mouthful of soup. "No wonder my son complains about you Earth females so often."

"But-" Looking between the amused faces of the others at the table, Hay Lin gave up the battle. "They won't be happy," she muttered.

"That's not the point," Elyon pointed out. She blinked as she remembered something. "Oh. You should come and watch the sunrise sometime, Hay Lin. I think you could make a brilliant painting of it."

The Air Guardian straightened in her chair, enthralled by the chance laid before her. "If it's anything like the sunrises on Earth-"

"Even better," Elyon said. "There are more colours. I never knew you could see so many shades of pink in one place! Caleb seemed to enjoy it this morning."

"He did? That gives me an idea…"

"That gives me ammunition. And he calls us girly."

"Watching a sunrise isn't 'girly', Irma."

"Oh yeah? Taranee, this is _Caleb_ we're talking about."

As the conversation dwindled into a good-natured argument, Julian snuck a discreet glance towards the passling who was not so subtly trying to sneak more of Vathek's food. He was failing miserably, the large jail warden guarding his bowl as though it were his last meal.

Julian closed his eyes and drew in a centering breath. 'Last meal' was probably not an apt way to describe something when he – and his friend in question – had been on the end of what they thought would be their last meal many times. But it was what it was, and there was nothing he could do except move on.

Mind composed once more, the man opened his eyes and met those of Blunk as the latter attempted to climb over Vathek's broad shoulders. Julian silently mouthed his gratitude to the passling for watching over and looking out for his son. Caleb smiled and a moment of understanding passed between the two. Then Vathek flung the passling off in fury and the smelly green being went flying into the opposite wall.

A mournful voice spoke up. "If big blue didn't want to share big blue could have just said. Blunk would have understood without being thrown."

The Guardians present were reduced to snorting into their drinks once more. Even Elyon and Julian struggled to hold back a laugh as Vathek, now truly enraged, floundered for words that would have been no use against a wily passling.

* * *

She gazed at the sleeping figure, shaking her head to herself. Smiling softly and she gently reached out a finger to brush back several errant strands of brown hair. Shifting further in on the bed, her fingers then brushed even more gently across the sleeper's lips. Caleb stirred against the sheets.

The blonde girl carefully removed her fingers from the boy's face. She left them off even as his slumber drew him back under its spell.

Looking to the still open window, the Earthling focused upon the vine she could sense more than see outside. Flicking her fingers gracefully through the air, she slowly encouraged a few out-of-season buds to emerge from the plant.

Like a well-trained dog, blooms began to appear one after the other, expanding at a steady rate as their stems drifted to surround the window. Deep oranges, pinks, reds and purples soon framed the opening into the room in a thick cluster. It was like the entrance to a secret garden, one only their gardener knew about and within which hid the one of the most precious pieces of her heart. The girl smiled softly as she continued to appraise her work.

A large, rough hand grabbed her own small one.

"Beautiful," breathed a voice in her ear.

The girl turned her head, face half hidden shyly beneath waves of cornfield hair. Her smile grew as the hair was brushed aside and chaste lips brushed the skin of her cheek.

For a while the two sat in a tranquil silence, no words needing to be passed between them – a fact that would have surprised a great many who knew them. They watched as several more flowers were coaxed into the world, adding to the sweet aroma hanging in the air. After a while, the fairer of the two turned to face the other.

She took in the fading purple beneath his eyes and the ghostly lines that were new and yet, somehow, had always been there. She took in the look in his weary brown eyes, took in the warmth that seemed to fill their shell-like depths as he gazed at her, the fire that always burnt fiercely at the back no matter the level of exhaustion or hopelessness or safety.

"You could have helped me out the window, you know-"

"Sleep," she murmured with a kiss.

Sinking back into the covers, a warm presence by his side, Caleb smiled at the true scent of flowers in the air. _It was just a dream._ With a small contented sigh, he obeyed.

* * *

 **I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. I have several more ideas for this story that I may post eventually (I've got some exams coming up so I probably won't post for a while if I do decide to continue with it). They are kind of able to stand alone, but continue on from and link to each other well enough so... Some will also probably be more lighthearted or angsty or romance driven than others, depending on the idea (and feature different characters to varying degrees - Caleb will remain the centre though). In any case, please review. I would love to hear your thoughts on this.**

 **To Ellie - I don't usually reply to guest reviews, but I decided to with yours. :) Firstly, thanks for reviewing. It was much appreciated and I am glad you like the idea (and I am not the only who thinks it). I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations (even if it may have been a bit more lighthearted than you expected). I also hope I continued to portray the characters correctly. In any case, you gave me the push I needed to continue on with this, so thanks. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter and further ones. Thanks again for reviewing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **This one is a day after the events of the last one (or around there). I apologise in advance if the quality is not great, I was playing around with an idea (see the end for further explanation).**

* * *

The youth stood at the entrance to the section that held the palace's prison. He had compromised with Elyon, promising to accompany her to whatever 'relaxing' activity she chose – so long as it did not involve ice or skates or a combination of the two – in several days time if she allowed him today to catch up on his duties. The young commander's argument had been solidified when, in refute to her complaining he did too much, he had pointed out he would not have had so much to do had she not confined him to his room the day before.

Caleb had been ridiculously proud of his victory. Sometimes it was good to know one could still outdebate the all-powerful Queen of Meridian. He would never admit, however, how much good the day of rest had done him. Not to Elyon's face in any case. Or Vathek's. Or his father's. But Blunk was a possibility, if the passling prodded him just the right way…

The young commander stared down the passageway and tried to still his thudding heart. He was stalling. He knew it.

"This is ridiculous," Caleb muttered to himself. _I've been here before plenty of times. I was there when we confronted…_ her _and when we struck that 'deal' with Phobos. I've been here after as well. More than once!_

 _Because two is such a large number in comparison to one._

Caleb did not like the mocking voice in his head. It sounded too much like another power-hungry voice that he would rather forget.

 _So that is why you have been avoiding this trip._

 _I'm not avoiding it! I've been here before._

 _And yet that was always because your Queen asked you. It was always because you_ had _too._ If imaginary voices could laugh, this one would win the prize for the most derisive one. _Fear is a terrible thing._

"Damn you! I am not afraid!" Perhaps cursing himself aloud did not make such a good case for his argument. Now that he thought about it, talking to himself did not make such a good case for his sanity either. At least he had still possessed enough sense not to shout the words.

Caleb rubbed his hand over his pounding heart once more, swallowing dryly. It was not like he had never faced the foes before, and once again they would be locked in cells. They would be unable to harm him, unable to eat him.

The young commander shuddered as the thought dredged up the remains of his nightmare the night before. The snake-like beast had been more appealing when he had been made puny by Phobos in a fit of rage. Caleb certainly had not missed Cedric's ability to all but crush a man with his hands and tail. Or his ability to swallow said man whole.

"He will be in a cell." There was that muttering again. It was not reassuring in any aspect. _He was in a cell before. They all were. And they got free._

A slithering 'Lord' slithered circles in his head, swallowing up all in his path. Caleb closed his eyes. He imagined the vibrant flowers that still bloomed on his windowsill, framing it in an explosion of colour. _It was just a dream._

He could do this.

 _"Get rid of them permanently."_

He _could_ do this.

A giant snake-man filled his vision, swallowing up petty tyrants in a single gulp.

He couldn't-

"Caleb! I was not expecting you now." Vathek's voice rang loud and clear. "Later in the day, perhaps…"

The young commander stared up at the jail warden. "And why is now not a good time?"

Vathek grinned. "I thought you would have been longer with your father, Drake and the Queen chewing them out for keeping you out of the scuffle yesterday."

"That was no small scuffle," Caleb frowned darkly. "If the Guardians hadn't been there, that thing would have leveled the entire portion of the city next to the lake."

"Nevertheless, it was handled, and you did not even have to wake from your slumbering for us to do so."

"And if there are more of them, whatever they were?" the young commander asked incredulously. "Better for me to have been there and seen it so that I could better deal with it if it comes back."

The jail warden shook his head. "It is the duty of the others, as commanders of the guard, to protect Meridian as well."

"And _I_ am the head of them!"

"Well, no harm was done," Vathek placated. "So, let us go and pay those fiends that it is _my_ duty to guard a visit."

Caleb swallowed. His heart pounded. Tyrants and snakes still screamed in his head. Yet, there was no way he could get out of it. It had to be done. Still –

"I'm here to see the prison, not the prisoners."

His old friend shot him a look. "And you will find that you cannot get one without the other."

It was a fact that Caleb, reluctantly, knew.

"After you." Vathek gestured for the young commander to make his way through the door that would lead to the heart of the prison where the worst of the worst were kept. The youth swallowed dryly and followed.

The pair soon emerged into the main chamber, if it could be called such. The roof was high and the bottom so far down that it was hard to discern where the columns of cells ended. Rows of eyes glinted in the shadowy depths of the walls, row upon row of hatred spilling out onto the two figures that stood freely upon the center platform.

Caleb looked around, blood rushing in his ears. The pale face of Cedric was visible through the bars of his cell – a human face, which gave Caleb no small amount of relief. The beast was also silent, unbridled rage racing across his face as his eyes met with the former rebel leader who suppressed a shiver. _It was just a dream…_

Miranda was nowhere to be seen, although the youth knew she lurked somewhere in the confines of the cell directly below Cedric's. Her lack of presence, however, was made up by another who drifted elegantly behind the bars.

"Ah, the rebel leader." Caleb loathed that sneer. "Come to gloat, have you? I have noticed your remarkable absence I the past weeks. Not counting, of course, the times you have accompanied my delightful sister down like the obedient mindless slave you are."

Caleb ignored the provocative words of the beaten tyrant. He glanced at Vathek with a cocked eyebrow and then back around the room. The jail warden took the hint.

"We have not had any trouble so far," he said in a low voice.

Caleb nodded, his thoughts guarded carefully by unreadable eyes. The young commander looked around, thudding heart moving to second place as his mind went about analysing the potential of the prison to keep its occupants locked away. He stood in such a manner for a while, Vathek calmly maintaining watch beside him. _This isn't so bad…_

Phobos, however, would not be ignored.

"Do you think you can stop me from getting out again?"

Caleb ignored him with his head. The pounding in his chest, however, increased by a notch.

"Ignoring me? I would have thought you lacked the skill to keep your mouth shut when desired. Or at least had enough sense to know when someone spoke the truth."

The young commander swallowed, but refused to acknowledge the jibe.

The former tyrant laughed. It was a laugh that could cause the stones in the heart of a volcano to shudder. "I have gotten out before, _twice_ before, and I can do so again, and then you will regret your role in bringing a temporary end to my reign."

"Both times you had help, and both times you ended back in here," Vathek bit back. "The end to your reign isn't so much temporary as it is lasting."

The jailer's companion swallowed again. If his heart was pounding furiously, his mind running through every possible way that what the former tyrant had said coming true, it did not show.

"Ah, yes, help." If anything, Phobos' grin increased in amusement of the sinister kind. It was telling that the other notable prisoners fell silent, as though they were about to watch a pack of starving beasts set upon an ignorant traveller.

Caleb took a casual step back to better keep all his potential enemies in view. _Danger! Danger!_ – his instincts went on overdrive; even the faint hissing breaths of Cedric were audible to the former rebel's ears. His hands grew uncomfortably damp, but his face gave away nothing of his inner disquiet.

 _They cannot get out of their cells._ But words could be just as harmful as action. _"Get rid of them_ permanently _…"_

The young commander did his best to keep his hatred for that voice from showing. He tried even harder when it spoke aloud again.

"Perhaps that former Guardian will break free from that pretty jewel and see the benefits of partnering with me once again. Although, I admit that trust between your mother and myself would never be quite the same after our mutual betrayal of each other." The denounced prince grinned at Caleb's involuntary flinch at the mention of one person he would rather forget. "Yes, I know your little secret. I wonder what that makes you. She was a murderer, after all."

Caleb gritted his teeth. He would not flee. His heart might be trying to pound its way through his chest and the material of his gloves might be sticky unpleasantly to his sweaty palms, but he would not flee. He would not give the bastard the satisfaction.

"Not that kinship mattered much to her. She did try to kill you. Even my parents were not as awful as that."

Beside him Vathek was growing increasingly agitated as well. Caleb sent the jailer a sidelong glance, the best he could do to tell his friend that he would – that he could – handle it.

"Talk all you want, Phobos," the young commander answered at last. "You will not escape on Vathek's watch. You cannot escape on your sister's watch. You may be older, but she got the family talents and powers." He paused, glee in his tone but not his face. "That must hurt."

"I should have swung an axe through your neck when you first kneeled before me in chains," Phobos growled. "How easy my life would have been then. Then I could have strung up your lifeless body as a warning to all else who dared to even think of opposing me."

One of the two figures on the platform below snapped. "Shut your mouth! You will not threaten him on my watch."

The other figure had frozen, almost unnoticeably so, in place. His heart sped up its frantic drumming so much so that the young man feared it would burst from his chest in a bloody mess. His hands were slick. His face had defaulted into the marble mask of a rebel leader.

Phobos gave a short bark of laughter. "Well, it looks as though your _fearless_ leader can't handle a few small words. Maybe you would have been better off letting me cut off his head."

"You would have to be able to lift an axe first, Phobos," Caleb shot back. "But we all know you can barely lift your sister's dresses no matter how much you like wearing them."

The laughter that echoed from the other cells – one disturbingly like the hissing mirth from his too recent nightmare – sent the former tyrant into a silent rage.

Caleb had regained his center well enough to fix his mask back in place, the one that he had worn whenever he had been interrogated by someone with a reputation for vile and cruel and evil. The former rebel leader sent one more glance around the tall room.

"I think that's it," he said and turned on his heel.

The young commander walked back down the passage he had come, Vathek close behind. The human struggled to keep his breathing even as he finally allowed his hands to curl into fists.

"You won't always have your Guardians to swoop in and save you at the last minute," Phobos' haughty voice followed him. "One dawn the axe will fall and you will be as dead as a-"

The door slammed shut, cutting off the last word. Vathek looked to where Caleb leant against the exit of the prison. He went to speak, but could think of nothing to say. So he closed his mouth and waited.

"It could have been worse."

Vathek raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Well," Caleb elaborated. "He could have said I looked as ugly as you."

The hollow tone took the humour out of the words, and Vathek was left wondering whether it had been a wise decision to let the youth into the prison after all. The prisoners, despite their lodgings and when they were not insulting each other, liked meat to cut and slice with the only weapons they had available to them – words. Vathek was old meat, so to speak; they saw him so often that their words slide off his skin like gravy on ice and the game had lost its amusing appeal. Caleb though – what most of them would not give to see Caleb fall in one way or another. To have the former rebel leader all to their wordy selves…

The young commander had visited the prison twice since their second victory of Meridian. Yet, each time had been at the behest and in the company of Elyon – a far more juicy target, not in the least because her tongue did not quite have the same ability as Caleb's barbed one. Besides, she was Meridian's Queen and Heart, and so the focus had been on her. Nor could she hide so well her distress like her most loyal guard.

Vathek regarded Caleb with a long and discreet look. The boy had been avoiding the prison as much as possible. Wherever possible he had simply talked to Vathek wherever possible; the food hall, the main hall, his chambers, Vathek's chambers, the gardens – the furthest the young human had made it was the jail warden's working quarters. Until now.

They each had their own way, the rebels who had found themselves almost surprisingly in a new and better world, of dealing with their nightmares – both in memory and dreams. Drake was attempting to learn the lute. Julian focused on the present. Vathek had found simply seeing the ones responsible for Meridian's suffering in a cell each day was enough to make all the horrors he had faced seem worth it. The look of pure hatred of Phobos' face in particular gave him distinct pleasure.

The blue Meridian looked Caleb over once more. How the youth dealt with it, if the efforts of himself and others the prior day to keep him from working were any indication, was by throwing himself into his duties. It worked, Vathek could not argue otherwise, but the boy also seemed to have another unconscious way of getting past his own too real nightmares. It was a concern of the former spy that one day Caleb would be unable to continue his dodging of the issue any longer. No one could dodge forever. They eventually had to take a hit.

That type of thinking was not something Vathek wished to apply to his friend. It had served well enough, however, in providing hope during the Rebellion.

Still leaning against the door, Caleb shifted. He had caught the jail warden staring and was now rendered both self-conscious and curious as to why.

Vathek straightened unconsciously. "You seem… shaken."

Caleb closed his eyes. For a while it appeared as though the youth would stay silent or else walk away, but he eventually conceded to words.

"The last time I saw Phobos in a prison setting I was hours away from being executed."

The jailer was caught off guard. He had heard as much at the time, had even tried to offer some semblance of reassurance to Julian that his son, against all the odds, would make it through. The big blue Meridian remembered his worry well, his own fear that they would, for once, be too late. It was a thought that haunted both him and Julian – and the others too – and often many a night for weeks after were spent with the company of friends and drink ended with them discussing the prospect of imminent death.

For all their talk, however, he had never heard Caleb utter one word about the incident. It was a fact that concerned Julian to no end.

Phobos, on the other hand, had possessed no such qualms of keeping the details of what could have happened quiet.

Vathek realised he still had not responded. He did not know whether his friend wanted him to, but it could not do any harm to try. Whether or not Caleb wanted to confide, Vathek would assure him that he could confide in his friend all the same. As it was, he had his own experiences he could use to meet the younger being at a mutual level.

Hurriedly drawing phrases together in his head, the jail warden finally broke the strenuous silence. "I remember when they were going to push me into the Abyss before you and those Guardians came along. I don't think I have ever felt that much fear for myself before or since."

Caleb took the subtle invitation. "I was more concerned about Blunk. I couldn't figure a way out of there, at least not without blowing Raythor's cover, and he was going to be killed alongside me." The former rebel leader crossed his arms and lowered his head. "He might be a smelly thief, but he's a good friend with a good heart. He didn't deserve to die."

"And what about you?" Vathek asked.

Caleb shrugged, his face unreadable. "I had already made my peace with dying."

He did not elaborate. The ugly thing was that Vathek did not need him to. They had all been faced with death during the Rebellion. They had all had to make peace with it somehow. It was that or crack. So, as much as he did not want to, Vathek understood Caleb's words all too well.

"The cells seem to keep well enough, and the drop certainly deters escape, but what are we going to do should that fail?" the young commander spoke up suddenly. "Miranda, at least, can climb. We cannot simply rely on the power of Elyon or the Guardians to contain potential escapees either."

His friend noted just how fast it had taken for the youth's voice to revert back to the authoritative tones of a leader. "Perhaps the Council of Kandraka would know of something. Stopping the likes of Cedric or Miranda would pose a challenge for mere guards to handle, although Phobos seems powerless enough."

Not that one would know it from his mouth.

Vathek's blood boiled with indignant rage once more at the former tyrant's words to Caleb. It was the same rage that he felt every time he looked at Phobos' face. Only this time round the usual smug satisfaction that came from seeing the would-be ruler of Meridian in his rightful place had not made an appearance to temper it.

"And what is the likelihood of the veil ripping in any cell?"

Vathek winced internally at the question. The young human's parenthood was still a delicate subject. "Kandraka."

"Is that your solution to everything?" Caleb asked, raising one eyebrow in amusement.

"They are the best source of information we currently have for such issues," the jailer defended. _Now that the Mage is gone…_ He frowned at his friend good-naturedly. "Have you not got other business to attend to other than irritating me?"

That drew a groan from the young commander.

"I've still got to see what is making everyone who passes Blunk's room gag more so than usual." Caleb rubbed a hand down his face. For the first time since setting foot in the prison he grinned. "Unless, of course, you would like to take over that duty."

Vathek's brow furrowed darkly as he remembered his less than satisfactory meal the day before. "And deal with that thief? He is your friend and that makes him your problem." He shot a sidelong glance to his own good friend. "So long as you do not hide behind any suits of armour, you should be fine."

"Ha ha," Caleb snarked back. "Maybe I should make you come with me. I could always use someone to distract him should I need to remove any of his precious 'treasures'…"

"Get out of here," Vathek growled back, pushing the young human towards the door. "The day I will voluntarily go near that passling is the day that you settle down with that Earthling girl of yours."

"You never know, my friend. Those words may come back to haunt you."

The Meridian jail warden humpfred as the door to the prison's main hall swung shut. He folded his massive arms as he grumbled about humans in general and one boy in particular. A ghostly tweaking of the corners of his lips gave him away, however, as he listened to Caleb's laughter reverberate through the door. The former spy closed his eyes.

Laughter like that was good. It meant that the worst was over. It meant that they could finally start to heal.

* * *

 **I hoped you enjoyed this chapter as well, despite the probably poor quality. I admit I did rush it a tad (I have exams starting tomorrow and I was doing this in my study break), but I wanted to get the idea done before I moved onto the next chapter (and continued studying; but the next chapter more which I am sure you will really like). In any case, some aspects of PTSD are avoidance of people/places/events/discussion that remind the person of the traumatic events and physical reactions when faced with reminders. I wanted to try this with Caleb avoiding the prison where Phobos and the like is except where absolutely necessary; I was going off the fact that his last real encounter with Phobos (as well as prison) was not entirely pleasant what with his head about to be cut off, coupled with Cedric's strange appetite, and Miranda almost killing him and Blunk. It is also hard to try and get them to talk about what business they would be conducting when I've got no real idea of what exactly they would be talking about... -_-**

 **Anyway... I tried. Hopefully I kept everyone in character, and as I said, hopefully the next chapter will be better. Anyway, please review if you would like to - it would be much appreciated. And thanks for reading.**

 **Also, I was asked this by a reviewer - yes, I will take suggestions for chapters, etc. There is no guarantee I will use them or the time it will take for me to put them up (I have a loose timeline I would need to fit them in in; also some ideas might be mushed together depending), but I am happy enough to hear them out. The only rules - the romantic pairing will remain between Cornelia and Caleb (no diversions from that, although mentions of other canon pairings from the animation - I haven't read the comics - is fine) and it needs to fit with the story topic (i.e. PTSD). Preferably something I can cover in one chapter, and preferably something I haven't already covered (although new ideas for broad ideas like his nightmares is fine).**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

* * *

 _The purple stone glared at him and he glared at it with all the might his seven year old form could muster. It was small for a stone, barely the size of both the child's fisted hands together. It was also a lifeless stone possessing no consciousness to realise it was glaring or the wrong it had done to the boy._

 _Nevertheless, it continued to glare obnoxiously purple that had fallen with the cave-in over the only real beam of light from outside the cave._

 _Caleb did not like that rock._

 _He liked the cave even less._

 _Finally conceding his loss in the glaring match, the young boy backed up a step to press up the rocky wall. He thought he had heard a sound, a scratching somewhere above. It had not been a pleasant sound. In fact, it was what had driven him into the cave in the first place, sending the boy from his exploration into hiding… It had not been a pleasant sound at all._

 _Breathy shallowly, least the thing should hear him, Caleb began to edge around the cave to the tunnel at the back. The scratching came again. Caleb halted but did not cry out. He had learnt the importance of being quiet from his father. It had been a memorable talk._

 _"If you hear someone breaking in, if you see someone armed you do not know, if you hear men shouting about a raid, if you hear hissing of any sort…"_

 _The list had gone on and on, but it had always ended with the same – "Hide and be quiet until I come to get you. Do you understand? You_ must _be quiet until I come to get you."_

 _The scratching came again._

 _Be quiet. Be quiet. Be quie-_

 _Caleb stuffed a small fist into his mouth, stifling the involuntary sound that attempted to leap from his throat when the scratching came_ again.

 _The boy shot a look towards the tunnel at the back of the cave. He shot a look to the purple stone. It glared back at him, refusing to move._

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

 _Caleb bolted for the tunnel as fast as his little legs could carry him. The entrance to the tunnel seemed to be get further and further away as he ran. His feet slid across the rocks that had spilt across the floor and he bit his tongue, feeling the metallic warmth of blood flood his mouth as he prevented himself from crying out._

 _"Be quiet until I will come and get you."_

 _Where was his father? He wanted his father... But he could not call out until his father was there._

 _Scratch._

 _Caleb tripped and suddenly the ground broke open beneath him. He was falling, falling, falling…_

Caleb started as he suddenly found himself on the ground. He hurriedly pushed himself upright, reclaiming his seat back on the log from which he had fallen.

The sidelong look of concern that Aldarn shot him told the young commander he had not gotten away with the incident as unseen as he had hoped.

His friend quickly looked back to where his Queen was waving her hands, talking enthusiastically about her plans to expand the conservation site near the palace even further. With Aldarn taking more of an interest in the endeavor than him, Caleb had chosen to sit and doze for a while – an action he suspected neither present with him would deny him – in part to escape the unease that the place gave him.

He should have known that his light sleep would drift off into a nightmare. The only surprising thing was that it had not been about beastly snakes chasing him towards ever closing portals.

Caleb looked at his hands, imagining those of a seven year old in their place. He had not had that dream in years. In truth, it had thrown him somewhat off balance.

The young commander glanced up as his long time friend throughout the Rebellion, and now in this Paradise, moved to stand beside him whilst Elyon inspected a tree with several colourful birds nesting in it.

"Are you alright?"

Caleb rubbed his temples but did not answer. He did not need to.

"Nightmare?" Aldarn asked, sympathetic. "I've been getting them too."

Caleb smiled hollowly. "Just a dream from when I was a child. What are yours about?"

"Phobos, Cedric, and…" He glanced at his friend and thought better of his next words. "More Phobos."

"Ah." There was not much more that could be said.

The two drifted into a semi-awkward silence. It was broken by the delight laughter of their Queen as she watched a hatchling clumsily peak its head above the sturdy walls of its twig home.

"How she can stare at trees for hours, but complain about having to meet with the leaders of each district?"

Caleb smirked at his good friend's question. "Have you ever listened in on one of those meetings?"

"Well, I was going to." Aldarn shrugged. "But it was canceled an the Queen insisted that we take a stroll through the conservation forest. What about you?"

He grinned at Caleb's unimpressed glare. His grin grew even wider as the young commander ducked his head at Elyon's next words.

"I quiz him about them after," she said gleefully. "So he has to listen."

"Because we can't let our esteemed Queen suffer alone, can we?" Caleb muttered under his breath.

"Of course not," Elyon replied with extra cheer upon hearing him.

The girl went back to inspecting the trees for other signs of wildlife whilst her two guards watched her with misleading lazy expressions. Anyone who dared a closer look would note how their eyes tracked her every move, how their heads shifted at every tiny sound, how their hands were never too far away from their weapons. Despite their young appearances, they were every bit the trained warrior ready to defend their Queen.

Still, not even they could stay in one place for so long without growing weary. Or have still fresh nightmares dance their way inside their heads once more.

Shaking his head clear of the unwanted thoughts of purple rocks and scratching, Caleb groaned and stretched where he sat on the log.

"I hate sitting around and doing nothing," he complained. _But it beats sitting around waiting to die._ The former rebel leader had enough sense not to say the thought aloud.

"You did promise our Queen a day of relaxation," Aldarn reminded him. Elyon whipped around almost immediately to face them.

"This doesn't count," she said, pointing her finger at the sitting boy. "You are still guarding me, therefore you still owe me a completely work-free day of fun."

Caleb groaned, but it was half-hearted at best. Perhaps he could suggest to Elyon that Earth would be far more fun than anything they could find in Meridian… The flowers there were certainly more enticing.

Making to open his mouth least his reputation should be made subject to question, Caleb paused as a fast paced rustling – a sound clearly made by something larger than any animal supposed to have been in the conservation – moved towards them. Hand moving to the sword at his back, the young commander stood and moved in front of his sworn Queen. Aldarn similarly tensed, prepared to defend Meridian's rightful ruler from attack.

From the foliage burst a man they both knew well, one of the men who had helped lead one of the smaller groups in the first victory against Phobos.

"Eric?" Caleb asked, surprised.

The man did not respond other than a half strangled cry and spun around. He sighted the young commander and lurched towards him with another strangled sound, tripping forward in his erratic haste and latching himself onto Caleb's upper arms. The latter froze in shock as he met Eric's wild gaze that seemed to not see as much as it saw.

"Run! You need to run! He's coming!" the man cried. He shook Caleb. "Cedric is coming and he will kill us all!"

Caleb's mouth went dry. He remembered the way the snake-beast had chased him across Meridian, had chased him through this same conservation. He remembered being grabbed by the monster, his arms being crushed just as they were being crushed now. He remembered Phobos disappearing down a maw that hissed with laughter. He remembered screaming Blunks and flowers disappearing down that hissing maw as he slept. _It was just a dream._

But was it? If Eric was right and Cedric had escaped, was it just a dream?

Caleb found he could scarcely breath. The pain of Eric's grip told him it was not just a dream. _It has to be a dream…_

"The horn would be blowing if he was on the loose," Aldarn said shakily even as he swung his weapon up once more. His reasoning, however, broke through the panic stupor that had gripped his friend and the young commander listened through Eric's rambling for the telltale lack of sound.

Aldarn was right. The horn had not been sounded. As far as they were from the palace, the magic that surrounded it would ensure they heard it.

Then why was Eric clinging to him in a panic over escaped snakes?

 _Unless they don't know that he's escaped…_

"Please, we need to flee form here! He will find us!" Eric tried to set off in a run with Caleb in tow, but the young commander had regained enough of his wits to stand fast until he figured out what was happening.

"What's going on?" Elyon's voice was small.

Caleb caught her send a beseeching gaze towards him out of the corner of his eyes. Yet, he could

" _Please!_ "

The sound of crashing through the forest moving towards them once more set all present on edge. Eric gave a loud sob and clung harder onto Caleb. Aldarn, at a quick look from his friend, pushed a pale faced Elyon behind him and lifted his sword, prepared to swing at whoever or whatever would attack them.

"Let go," Caleb ground out as he struggled to reach for his sword. "Eric, let go!"

"No! He will kill us!" the man sobbed louder.

From the edge of his vision Caleb saw Elyon raise her hands, prepared to use her power as Queen and Heart of Meridian. The crashing came closer. He needed to get his sword.

 _Danger! "Be quiet."_

The thought leapt unbidden into his head, attempting distracting the former rebel from the situation at hand. Caleb grunted, trying to shake his head and arms free.

"Let go!"

"No!"

 _"Be quiet." Danger! Danger!_

The crashing was almost upon them. _Danger!_ This was ridiculous. He needed his sword and he needed it n-

Drake and his father broke through the trees. Caleb gasped silently in relief.

Elyon dropped her hands back to her side with a shaky gasp. Aldarn hurriedly lowered his weapon, instead turning eyes blown wide with anxiety upon them as he silently and earnestly beseeched their help to resolve the situation. The two men moved forward to where the third still clung desperately to Caleb.

The young commander winced when Eric tightened his grip round the youth's arms as the others tried to pry him away. Aldarn had moved to stand beside Elyon once more, the two unconsciously holding hands for morale support.

"Come on, Eric. Let him go," Drake was saying – almost distantly as though he were speaking underwater – somewhere to his right.

"It's alright. Cedric is not here. He's locked away in a cell," his father's voice came from his left, calm and soothing and rational.

"No! You don't understand! He's coming! He's coming…" the crazed man broke off into sobs, his grip finally loosening as he sagged becoming a dead weight and causing Caleb to stumble several steps back.

"It is alright. He is not here," Drake soothed. He took Eric gently but firmly by the arms and hauled him off Caleb. "He is not coming. He is under lock and key and Vathek's guard. He is not going anywhere."

The only reply was further sobbing, but the man's desperation seemed to have decreased significantly. Now he was more resigned than anything.

"Can you take him back to the palace like this yourself?" Julian asked the captain who now held Eric. Drake nodded, reassurances still dripping softly from his mouth. "Then I'll see to things here."

The man stood with the three youths beside him whose day had been interrupted, all four watching as Drake led the distraught Eric away back in the direction of the palace. Julian turned to the remaining beings.

"I suppose you would like an explanation."

Caleb inhaled, struggling inwardly to center himself, and raised an eyebrow at his father.

Julian obliged. "I was coming to fetch Elyon as the last members from the Southern villages arrived meaning the meeting could continue, and Drake and Eric joined me on their way back from keeping guard."

The man paused, looking over his son, his Queen and his son's best friend, and deliberated over how much he should tell them. Yet, it was an unfair thought to attempt to keep anything from them. What they had been through, despite their youth, had given all of them a right to not be fed watered down information like a child. So he continued.

"Eric stopped walking. I do not know what he saw or heard, but he suddenly just started shouting that Cedric was coming. Drake tried to grab him, but Eric shoved him to the ground and bolted. We gave chase and ended up here." Julian took a breath. "I do not know what caused this, but it seemed he was not in his right mind, that he was not comprehending of this reality. We were fortunate he was not armed."

Caleb blinked and ducked his head at his father's final words. The man's eyes had been wild, too wild. If he had of had a weapon in hand… _Danger!_ But his instincts were warning him over something that was long over.

"Are any of you injured?"

The question started the young commander from his thoughts. He should have asked that same question as soon as Drake had convinced Eric to release him. At the very least he should have checked on his Queen whom he was supposed to be guarding.

Berating himself viciously in his head for being so caught up in shock, Caleb turned his head to discern the condition of the two who had been with him. The tension in his shoulders lessened as he saw they were both standing pale, yet tall. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear the fog of shock from his head. It was hindering his ability to think clearly.

"N…no," Aldarn stammered in answer to the question that had been posed. Elyon merely shook his head.

Caleb watched as his father studied them critically then, seemingly appeased by the truthfulness of their words, turned to him. Caleb blinked. The thickness in his head was still making his thoughts sluggish.

"I am unharmed," he managed.

"Are you sure?" Doubt leaked from the words in waves.

"Yes," Caleb replied, doing his best to steady his voice in a convincing manner. He was not entirely sure it worked, but his father seemed appeased for now.

The man regarded the three of them once more, taking in the tension in their stances, the paleness of their faces, the tightness of their lips. He studied Elyon's shimmering eyes and how her hands twisted in the folds of her dress. He noted the way Aldarn's hand seemed to keep drifting down to his sword with every other sound, his eyes still blown wide. He eyed his own son's hands critically.

"How about the two of you take the rest of the day off. I will take over guarding the Queen," Julian suggested gently to the two boys.

"Y…yes," Aldarn said. Julian flashed him a reassuring smile before looking to his son.

Caleb shook his head. By now he had hardened his voice believably. "I'm fine."

He was shocked, beyond shocked, almost scared out of his mind. He had seen several rebels crack under pressure before, but never had he witnessed something as potent as that. The Eric's eyes had been wild, desperate, and his iron grip had reminded the former rebel leader _too_ much of Cedric. Caleb's arms still hurt from where they had been grabbed – he was almost certain they would bruise. But he was _fine_. He had to be.

"Caleb." There was a hard note of warning in his father's voice.

The young commander inhaled and set his jaw. "I'll finish both mine and Aldarn's shift, if you escort Aldarn home."

The stark authority in his voice left no room for argument. It expected to be obeyed and obeyed it would be. Elyon's next words sealed his fate.

"Please," came her dampened tones as she turned beseeching eyes on Julian. It was clear that she needed someone she felt close to and the closest person she knew intricately at that moment was Caleb.

Caleb watched as his father stood for a moment, jaw set in frustration, eyes containing an inner turmoil. He glanced to where Aldarn still stood shaken, then looked over his son once more with a hard glint in his eye. Finally, he conceded.

"Fine," the man said staring his son in the eyes. "But I wish to speak with you after your shift is finished. Anything else can wait."

Caleb closed his mouth and gave a stiff nod. If needed, he could always evade his father later on – he was apt at avoiding being seen – albeit that would make the conversation that much tenser when the man finally caught up with him. Sighing inwardly, the young commander turned to face the other whose shift he had taken.

"See you around," he said with a smile. He did not reach out a hand in reassurance, however, not in the least because of the concerning way they were currently conducting themselves. Caleb's smile stretched a little further like cloth over the barrel of a drum. "I am sure your father will be glad to have you home early. Don't let him convince you to do anything too strenuous, though."

Aldarn smiled back. "And see you, my friend. Perhaps you can take your own advice."

The look Caleb's father shot him spoke volumes on what the man thought was the likelihood of that occurring. Perhaps he would avoid the man once he had finished after all, at least until his anger had simmered down.

With another final frown aimed at his son, Julian bowed slightly to his Queen and then proceeded to walk through the forest towards the village, Aldarn following doggedly after him. Caleb turned to Elyon.

"Perhaps we should return to the palace," he suggested. His charge merely sniffed.

The pair stood there for a while more, Caleb waiting for the girl to steady herself and ignoring the flood of anxiety that was crashing through his inner self. A bird chirped somewhere off to his left. The almost silence was almost worst than the loud sounds of running feet, of hissing laughter…

"Are you sure you didn't want to go with your father and Aldarn?" Elyon finally asked timidly.

Caleb shook his head. "It is my duty to ensure that you are alright."

"Your hands are shaking."

"I am fine, Elyon," Caleb answered, forcing a reassuring smile across his face. He clenched the offending appendages into loose fists. "Besides, you seem to be more shaken than me."

The girl sniffed again. Her eyes, made wet with unshed tears, now allowing those same tears to cascade down her face. Caleb took her hand.

"Let's go and see your parents," he said. Hopefully they would know what to do for the girl.

Elyon followed her guard with a trust that made Caleb ignore the flood within him even harder. He would not fail her whilst she was counting on him, not like he had almost done minutes ago.

They walked through the forest, not hurried but not slow, one determined to get to his destination and the other trailing meekly but unquestioningly behind. Moving out of the conservation, they then took the stairs that led to the entrance of the palace. Elyon maintained her hold on Caleb's hand the entire time. That she did not comment on it was a point of relief to the young commander.

Eventually they reached the quarters in which Tom and Eleanor stayed. The door to their main room was closed, however, and, not wishing to intrude on a private moment – and with Elyon still in a timid state behind him – Caleb knocked on the door.

The youth stepped back and folded his arms, hiding the fact that his hands were still shaking as he waited. He glanced at Elyon out of the corner of his eye. Her posture was hunched, shoulders curving in as her head dropped down to her feet. Hardening his resolve, the young commander forced a smile on his face and nudged her shoulder.

"Hey, at least you get out of that meeting."

Elyon shot him a watery smile of her own. It had been a weak joke, but Caleb could tell that the girl had appreciated it all the same. Before he could say anything further, however, the door opened and Eleanor's face appeared out.

"Caleb, you look- Elyon! What is wrong, dear?" The girl's adoptive mother dropped to her knees in front of her, hands taking smaller ones up in earnest. "Are you alright?"

"She is fine. Just shaken," Caleb gave in answer.

"I am not hurt," Elyon reiterated.

"What happened?" Tom asked as he appeared at the door. "I didn't hear the horn."

"One of the men, Eric, had a break down of some sort. He surprised us before my father and Drake managed to calm him." Caleb clenched his hands harder in their folded position. "I thought it would be best to bring Elyon to you."

From the corner of his eye he could see Eleanor fussing over her adoptive daughter, ushering her inside the room where she could better give the girl comfort. Elyon managed a brief wave of thanks and farewell to her friend before disappearing into the room.

"Thank you," Tom said sincerely.

Caleb forced yet another smile. "It was my duty."

He caught the man's glance down at his hands. "Are you sure that-"

"I am fine." If the words were stiff it was not commented on. "If it is alright with you and the Queen, I think I will take my leave now and leave her in your capable hands."

Tom nodded and Caleb turned on his heel. The youth strode up the corridor and turned right, before wandering aimlessly along passing other palace workers and dwellers until he got to a less travel part of the place.

Now that he was alone Caleb gasped, dropping to the floor as his legs found they could no longer support him or the rampant flood within him. He continued gasping, unable to draw in a proper breath and his hands were _still_ shaking no matter how hard he clenched them. He wished they would stop shaking.

The childhood nightmare that had plagued his mind earlier on came back with a vengeance. No purple rocks glared at him or scratching plagued his ears, but the former rebel leader felt like he was free-falling through the same abyss that Phobos had almost succeeded in sending Vathek down and Raythor had climbed out of. The sensation had stolen his very breath away, all but refusing air back into his lungs each time he expelled it.

The confusion that surrounded him on all sides seemed bottomless. The fall seemed endless. He was plunging forever through something that he did not understand, forever gasping on the verge of his last breath. And as he fell, his hands shook and shook and shook.

He clenched them tighter as he fell. They continued shaking. He clenched them tighter still. Even the insubstantial walls around him made of his stolen breaths and confusion shook violently in uncontrollable defiance.

This was it. It was all he would ever experience again, all he would ever see and feel: endless falling, endless _shaking_ , endless, endless, _endless…_

A sound broke through the abyss of confusion as a voice almost recognisable and yet distinctly unfamiliar called to him. "Caleb?"

"Is he alright?" Another voice joined the first, just as familiarly unfamiliar.

"Caleb? Can you hear me? Caleb, it's Drake. Say something if you can hear me." The first voice spoke again, the concern in their tone growing at the lack of response.

Tremors still ran through the ex-rebel leader's fisted hands. If they stopped, then maybe he could get everything back under control. He would be able to understand where he was, what was going on, who was in front of him. He would be able to take in a proper breath.

By Meridian's Heart, he wished they would _stop_ _shaking_.

The youth clenched his trembling fists tighter, only dully registering the pain of his nails tearing into flesh. He let out another ragged gasp, barely drawing in enough air to make his lungs expand.

"Caleb. Caleb!"

"Dammit, he broke the skin!"

Somebody swore. "Get Julian!"

There was the sound of running feet fading rapidly. The first voice spoke once more in front of him.

"Caleb, please. I don't know what is wrong, but you have got to calm down. Please. Don't you recognise me?"

He flinched away as hands tried to grab him. They tried a second time and succeeded, coming to rest lightly on his upper arms. Caleb jerked back violently, the back of his head hitting the wall behind him in his desperate attempt to wrench himself free.

Someone swore again and he was promptly released. "Caleb, it's me, Drake. I am not going to hurt you. Caleb! Caleb, calm down! You are going to injure yourself further. Caleb…"

There was a flurry of hurried feet and a rustling of clothes. Someone somewhere muttered a relieved thanks as another figure knelt down on the floor in front of him.

"Caleb, son."

The worried voice seemed far away, but it was familiar enough in a primal sense to send a jolt of recognition through the panic-stricken youth. He turned his face towards the sound. Through his fear, through his confusion, through the incessant shaking, through it all he knew that voice.

"Yes, that's it, son. Look at me."

From the blurry corners of his eyes he could make out two hands reaching towards his face. With alarm bells ringing in his head – _Danger! Danger!_ – his instincts saw him press further back against the wall. The hands froze in place, but did not withdraw.

"I am not going to hurt you, son. I would _never_ hurt you. You are safe here. No one will hurt you."

The hands moved forward once again, this time noticeably slower. All the while the familiar voice continued its soothing speech.

"It's alright. You are safe. I will not harm you, son. You are safe."

Caleb swallowed as the hands finally made contact with the sides of his face, resisting the gentle pull of them on his head.

"It's alright, son. Come on, look at me. You are safe. You are safe. Look at me, son. That's it."

Blinking, but still not truly seeing, Caleb gasped once more. He could feel the constricting thing that gripped his throat loosening at the soothing words, but it still stubbornly hung fast.

"Breath, Caleb."

He inhaled shakily, then let the breath loose in a rush of air.

"That's it, son. Breath for me."

He inhaled again, this time easier as his airway was opened up allowing a rush of air in. He exhaled. Then inhaled again in another rush. Then exhaled once more. In and out. In and out. That was all that he focused on as the voice continued to murmur reassuringly in front of him.

Eventually the hands on his face moved down to loosely encircle Caleb's wrists. "Come on, son. You need to relax your hands."

Fingers began to worry Caleb's own tightly clenched ones. They continued probing for a way to worm between his nails and bloody skin, but Caleb did not curl his fingers tighter. His hands were still shaking, but the soothing voice that had entranced him held his sole attention.

"Relax your hands, Caleb. It's alright. There is no danger here."

The fingers continued their worming and the voice continued its speaking, and soon enough the distraught boy's fingers gave way. His hands still trembled, but they were secured by another pair of familiar hands, the fingers from before discretely threading their way through the former rebel's own to prevent them from curling in again. Two thumbs began to make two separate circles atop his own.

"There you go. That's it. Just breath, son. Just breath."

Caleb blinked. A bearded face swum into view in front of him. The man smiled gently, lips tinged with stark concern. Caleb ducked his head to where his hands, entwined with his father's, were still shaking.

"Can you speak?"

Caleb swallowed dryly. His raw throat protested at the pain it caused. Why would the shaking not stop?

"Caleb, do you know what happened?"

The youth frowned at his hands as he tried to force them to cease their shaking by sheer will. If he could just get them to _stop_ …

"Caleb. Look at me."

Young and haunted brown eyes finally met those of the speaker.

"It's alright to be afraid, son."

Caleb said nothing. He could not, because it was not alright at all. He had to be fine. He _had_ to. To show his fear was a weakness he could not afford. To many depended upon him, too much was at stake. And yet it wasn't, not anymore. Not with Elyon as Queen, and Phobos and his traitor snake locked away. This paradise would not slip away again, but he had to be fine in case it did. He _had_ to be fine. He did not know how to be otherwise.

Why wouldn't the damn shaking _stop?_

"It's alright, son. It's alright." A thumb gently brushed away the tears that were streaking afresh down the distraught boy's face. The hand moved back down to retake the trembling one it had released. "Caleb, _it's alright_."

But it wasn't. Not really. And both father and son knew it.

Julian glanced to where Drake and Tynar had stood to give some illusion of privacy as well as keep any others from intruding on the fragile scene. The worry in their faces was paramount.

He had no idea what to do in this situation, his son broken down in his arms and near completely unresponsive, with only meaningless comforts able to spill from his lips. But they were all he had and so he spoke them with his entire being.

"It's alright."

His son was too young, _too young._ Too young to have seen what he had seen, to have experienced what he had experienced. Too young to be forced into a position many grown man would not envy. Too young to have been traversing a dangerous world alone with even more dangerous enemies in pursuit. Too young to have been captured by psychotic tyrants. Too young to have been faced with death over and over again. Too young, too young, _too young_.

But what was done was done. All Julian could do was focus on the now where his son was alive and hurting, breaking.

 _Too young…_

"It's alright, son. We are safe. You are safe."

The man could still feel tremors racking Caleb's hands in his own. It was worrying that they had not stopped since Tynar had brought him to his panicking son. Julian wondered whether they had ceased at all from Eric's confrontation with Caleb. The last he had seen of the youth at the time, his hands had still been trembling with unspoken fear.

The ex-slave and ex-rebel grit his teeth. He should not have let Caleb out of his sight.

"Son, you need to calm down."

The tears did not stop and nor did the shaking.

"Caleb, calm down."

It took everything Julian had not to let his own fear show in his voice. From the corner of his eye the man saw Drake make to speak. He subtly shook his head, refocusing his attention back on his son. The soundless way in which the boy's tears continued to streak down his face reminded his father all to well of those times in the depressingly distant-less past where a scared child had learnt to cry silently least he should fail to live to cry again.

 _"You must be quiet."_ His ancient words danced around his head like an uninvited and unwelcomed specter. The man blinked, clearing his head. He could feel guilt over his past actions later. He was needed by his son in the now.

"Caleb, son, you are safe." Julian's hands moved back up to his son's face. "Calm down. Enough. You are safe. Enough."

And slowly, slowly, as slowly as that snail paced sun all those mornings before Caleb obeyed, like any child, the insistent commands of his father. His crying ceased achingly slow and soon enough the boy had been reduced to a submissive, shadowy shell of silence.

"Do you-"

Julian glanced to where Drake stood with Tynar, cutting the other younger man off. He shook his head, tweaking one corner of his mouth up in thanks. "I can manage from here."

The man watched as the two left, returning Tynar's nod of farewell. Left alone, Julian turned back to where Caleb still sat withdrawn. He sighed.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you back to your room."

He tightened his lips at the lack of response and carefully coaxed his son into standing. With the same level of care he guided the boy along the corridors and stairways, avoiding the potential curiosity of a stray passerby by taking the less common routes.

Eventually they reached the door Julian desired and he opened it, directing Caleb through the entrance. Closing the door softly behind him, Julian then led the catatonic youth to his bed and set him down on it. If he could get Caleb to sleep, then perhaps the less desirable results of the boy's descent into panic would dissipate.

The man removed his son's boots, then coat and then his sweat-soaked shirt, swearing softly in his head at the darkening finger-like bruises that encircled each upper arm. He berated himself for not ensuring that Caleb was injury free despite what he had claimed when he had known, when he had _seen_ Eric grab the boy.

The ruined gloves were next to go.

Julian winced at the moderately deep half-crescent marks marring Caleb's palms as he peeled them off. It was a grim testament to the youth's previous state of mind that several were still sluggishly squeezing out blood. They would need to be bandaged, but the weary father could not bring himself to do so now. What was more urgent an issue was that Caleb still had not given any sign of life other than bland recognition and meek obedience. And his hands were _still_ shaking… It was as if Phobos had shattered his psyche once again reducing the boy to some sort of waking unconsciousness.

Julian closed his eyes and inhaled. What he wouldn't give to be alone in the disgraced prince's cell… But anger would not help him now. Now he needed to fix his son. And, more than that, he needed to make sure that this would never happen again. It would not be a pleasant conversation, but nothing about the situation was pleasant.

They sat on the bed, the father's arms encircling his son as the latter leaned against his chest in a position neither of them had held for years.

"You should not have continued your shift guarding Elyon."

Caleb said nothing.

"Caleb." Julian pulled his son's chin towards him. Dull brown eyes met his own, resigned about the horrors they had been forced to face time and time again. Julian sighed. "You should not have kept it inside of you."

But those words were a lie. Had the youth shown the extent of his fear at the time instead of dealing with the situation, he would have provoked Eric further and more harm would have been done. Had he shown his fear immediately after, he would have scared his two companions more. Had he shown it if he had gone with Aldarn, the latter would have likely broken down completely as well, too inexperienced as he was in dealing with such scenarios. The young commander certainly could not have shown it when he was guarding his distraught Queen. And so he had bottled it up, kept it in much to his detriment.

Julian understood all too well why his son had done so. It was, after all, the trait of a good leader during war.

The man set his jaw. He would not lose his child to being a 'good leader'.

"Caleb," he began gently, but sternly. "You should not have claimed you were fine when you clearly were not."

That got a reaction.

The boy made to pull away, tugging his chin free of his father's grasp. He shifted on the bed in an attempt to stand. Julian held him fast, however, ensuring at the same time it was not so tight or sudden to cause the same panic Drake's good intentioned actions had before. He made a point of avoiding the fresh bruises on his son's arms.

"No, Caleb. Listen to me. _Listen to me_." The steel note in his voice made the boy still. "You must not claim you are fine when you are not. You must learn not to, especially when you are injured. _Especially_ when it will cause you to panic like you did."

Julian took his son's chin again, gently but firmly guiding it to face him. A wave of frustration washed over the man as the youth refused to meet his gaze. "You were fortunate that Drake and Tynar found you, and that they had enough sense to fetch me when they did. You were fortunate that you did not do yourself any further harm than you did."

 _He_ was lucky that the incident had happened in the safety of the palace and not in the middle of a battlefield. The father closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. "You are fortunate it was not worse."

There was still no response forthcoming. The man was growing weary of his one-sided conversation.

"You should not have gone with Elyon, Caleb. It is fortunate that it did not happen with her there."

Their Queen was strong for someone her age raised in as peaceful a place as Heatherfield, but Julian shied from the idea of what might have happened had his son – one of the people she thought to be as steady as a rock, and perhaps that was part of the problem, the constant assumption of others that Caleb would be there just when they needed him – broken down in front of her.

It was an underhanded tactic, invoking guilt in the young commander, but Julian had no illusions about it working. The boy was used to others relying upon him, depending upon him for their safety. That fact had not changed despite the tentative peace that had been gripping Meridian for just over a month. If it got him to speak, if it got him to say when he was hurting…

Perhaps it was too much to hope that a veteran warrior – a former rebel and spy – could change their ways, but he could and he would try.

"Caleb, you should have spoken to me before."

Wet brown eyes blinked up at him and then glanced away in shame. Julian sighed.

 _It's alright to be afraid._

By now the man knew those words had frustratingly little affect on his son. Yet, there was no other advice he could give. He sighed again, leaning his chin atop Caleb's docile head.

"I wish you would speak, son." But there was no use in pushing. It would do no more good than beating the boy for a response; it would only worsen the situation.

Silence fell between them. Julian was willing to stay silent the entire night if it was what it took for his only child to regain his center. He would stay silent forever sitting on that bed, his arms around his son, if that was what it took.

Not for the first time the man felt a mixed wave of anger and pity extend towards Narissa. She would never know the feeling of holding her child in her arms. She had ensured that she would never know the feeling of comforting her child. She, the mother that had given him birth, would never truly know, no matter what dreams she was caught in.

The former rebel locked his jaw. Any remnants of his infatuation with her cast no illusion over the responsibility the treacherous woman had played in the breaking of his son. The man inhaled deeply.

 _Focus on the now. Now my son needs me._

"I had a nightmare before it happened."

Julian stayed silent, unwilling to break the small raft the youth had managed to pull together in the stormy turmoil of his head. The voice was small, wavering, a far cry from the self-assured leader the man had come to know. Yet, he could not help the relief that washed through him at the verbal sign of life. Julian tightened his arms ever so slightly around Caleb, desperate to not lose the small piece of his son that he had regained.

"It was one that I had when I was a child."

The older man fought back a wince at those words. It was clear that whatever was going through his son's head, he no longer thought of himself as possessing that innocent state. Guilt gnawed at Julian's stomach. He wondered whether change in Caleb's thinking had occurred after he had been captured the first time. Or whether is was, the power of Meridian's Heart forbid it, before.

 _There is nothing that you can change about what happened now._

"I was a child again and I was in this cave. There was this purple rock and a scratching sound and then I was falling…" He trailed off either too caught up in the memory or too unwilling to go on.

Julian remembered that nightmare. It was held no candle to the monsters that existed, but it had been Caleb's most vivid at the time scaring young boy so much that he had refused to talk for almost a day – disturbingly like the moments just before now that he thought about it. The man had not been able to persuade the child to leave his side for a week. It took even longer for him to persuade Caleb to sleep in his own bed.

He also remembered it had occurred after the first time he had been late in coming back from a mission to steal supplies.

"I would never leave you, Caleb," the man promised earnestly as he had that same night that, despite seeming long, was far too short a time ago. It was a selfless father's promise that was all too selfish at the same time.

"But you did." Caleb's voice was not condemning. He simply was no longer a naïve child. He knew all too well the realities of the world, had lived through them. It meant that for all he wanted to believed his father's words, he could not. "It wasn't your fault – you had no choice – but you did."

A hand seemed to squeeze Julian's heart at the hollow tone to his son's voice. It was the same tone he had heard in many of the older men and rebels in the days when Phobos still reigned as tyrant over Meridian; the tone of those who had all fantasies and falsities stripped away leaving nothing but the harsh, undeniable truth.

Not for the first time Julian felt that he had failed as a father. But what could he do? He had been forced to raise his child, alone, in the middle of a despot's rule and a budding civil war.

The man closed his eyes. There was nothing that could be done about it now. Now he had a son who had seen too much, experienced too much, knew too much. Too much for one too young.

 _Focus on fixing the now._

"Caleb, son," he began. It was as good a start as he could manage. "I would never leave you by choice, and I would fight tooth and nail to keep you from being taken from me. If you were, I would give everything to get you back. But you cannot keep it all inside of you. You cannot just keep insisting you are fine."

He reached a hand out to tenderly stroke the face of his only son, his only child. He inhaled again, using the breath to boost his resolve.

"I know it is hard. I know you are used to keeping things hidden, but you cannot. Not anymore. There is no need to. We have won and we are safe. _You_ are safe. But you are hurting. I can _tell_ you are hurting. Yet, I cannot help you if you do not let me."

He paused, almost chocking on the rawness of his next words, on the rawness of all the memories that assaulted him and all the imaginings of toppled heads and bloodied figures and figures swinging from ropes in trees.

" _Please_ , son. I cannot promise to never leave you, but I cannot lose you again. I would die before I lost you again. Let me _help_ you."

Once again Caleb did not respond, but Julian could tell he had heard. It was all the man could ask, all he would ask in that moment. Silence was what the boy had been brought up on and silence was what he would revert to in his most vulnerable state. But even then, all those years ago, Caleb had surprised his father with his resilience.

"Why won't they stop shaking?"

 _It's alright to be afraid. It's alright to not be fine._

Julian's own hands were trembling where they touched his son. He focused on stilling them before continuing. He had to get the boy to understand, to see and accept what he was saying, but, for all his need, the man knew he would fail that night.

"Leave them be, Caleb. They will stop in their own time." And if they did not… Like that early morning days before, 'what if' didn't bear thinking about.

"But-"

"You need sleep, son." The finality of his voice was clear. Julian took his child's trembling hands in his own once more. "Please. Sleep."

He felt Caleb wilt against his chest at the softer tone. With a faint smile, one marred by concern, the man carefully shifted so his son was more laid out on the bed than sitting against him. The entire time he made sure to keep at least one of the boy's still shaking hands in his own, his thumbs making small stokes in circles over them. He would not leave his child, not again or, at the very least, not now.

Julian leaned his head back against the wall as Caleb's breathing evened out. His son might be asleep, but the much desired state of repose would allude the man that night.

He wondered if Aketon, Aldarn's father, ever experienced these nights, if Elyon's adoptive parents did. He wondered if the parents of the Guardians were ever woken by screaming and unable to decipher a reason for it or even give the basic comfort that came from simple understanding. He wondered if they felt as he did, helpless to help those who to them mattered the most. Helpless to protect the child they had sworn to protect.

He wondered if any of them would ever be wracked with the same near crippling guilt he was.

The former rebel tightened his lips in a bitter grimace. Shifting slightly, he circled his thumbs over his son's skin once more, a tender motion if there ever was one. He knew the boy could no long be called a child. A child was innocent; his son was too experienced to be such. He was a man before he was a man. The passing of his next birthday would be a celebration of age alone.

If Julian could wish for anything, he would wish that it would not be the case.

Sighing into the air the man closed his eyes. He would have to ensure Caleb went to a healer when he woke; his hands, though not bad, still needed tending.

 _It will be alright._

A small smile spun itself across Julian's lips, a genuine one this time. He breathed a soft sigh of relief as his thumbs circled his son's hands once more. They had finally stopped shaking and Caleb was still breathing. For now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Caleb is 17 by the end of season two. I am assuming on Meridian 18 would be the age of manhood. I could be wrong, but it works well enough for this story, so…. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. I have another follow up chapter/second part to this (if anyone has any suggestions for what Caleb, Elyon, Blunk and the gang could be doing in Meridian that's fun I'm open to suggestions - I need an idea for the next chapter) which may take a little while depending on how my study goes. This one will have more CxC, for those of you who want to see more.**

 **As stated at the end of the last chapter, I am accepting suggestions/requests.**

 **Please review if you feel so inclined – I love hearing if my work is enjoyed (or even constructive criticism).**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **This is set several days after the previous chapter.**

* * *

The laughing and cheering that accompanied the performers tumbling about in their antics had created an atmosphere that would have had even Phobos half convinced that it was a lie the citadel had been twice the prime sight of a tyrant's rule. As it was, Caleb was more than a little shocked at the contrast between the Meridian he had grown up in and the one he was now experiencing.

Light, laughter, smiles, joy – life itself thrived through what had once been near lifeless streets. No spider dared to spin their web in the shadows of this convivial place. No snakes were present save those grotesquely, hilariously fashioned from cloth being beaten about the head by their unforgiving wives. No solemnity was allowed here, no despair or sorrow. The citadel had transformed into a place bereft of the even the grief that steeped from the scars of tyranny.

Caleb scratched at the bandages that wrapped his hands. They were not thick, but the material was rough enough to irritate his skin just enough to irritate him. From the corner of his eye he noticed the swish of a captain's red cape moving along the street.

His father, Drake and Tynar seemed to appear from thin air whenever there was even a ghost of work, of the Rebellion, of the tyrants and beasts that marred Meridian's history, of _her._ They were like shadows Caleb could not shake, constantly there on the edge ready to step in, yet seeming all the while as if they were merely passing by.

Vathek had no such qualms about subtly. He had blatantly stated that if he so much as caught whispers of the young commander engaging in anything other than small talk with the Guardians, the Queen or his – to quote the large jailer – 'stinking passling friend' he would sit on the youth and make small talk himself. Disturbingly, irritatingly banal small talk.

Caleb had made no argument against such conditions. He was still struggling to completely regain his equilibrium after what had happened with Eric.

He had, however, voiced his surprise at the blue Meridian surviving for so long as an undetected spy where discretion was paramount. Then he had been promptly taken by the arm and dragged to his father whilst being berated by the previously threatened banal small talk. While he had not laughed, the young human had noticed a lessening in the tightness of the worry lines which slashed the two adults' faces at his unremorseful grin.

Still, they had remained his self-attaching shadows and Caleb knew exactly why they were acting like so. The past few days even he would admit that he had been somewhat subdued, less himself or the self that he generally seemed in any case. His Queen – whilst he was unsure of the extent to which she had been told of the incident, although he was certain she had been told – had also insisted that he take the break he owed her. No expectations. Like the forced day of sleep nearly a week before, the others had only been too happy to enforce her orders.

Yet, despite their efforts to avoid such a thing, thoughts of Eric and how he had been unable to stop the shaking of his hands still haunted the edges of Caleb's mind. They sapped his drive, his surety, his faith in himself and the paradise he had miraculously found himself in once again. It was the festival that now dragged him out of his quiet somber mood.

The young commander returned his attention back to the vibrant street performance – the start of a week long festival to celebrate dancing and signing and acting and tomfoolery. It had been a tradition in the time before Phobos, or so the older rebels had said. Every year around this time performers supposedly had put on a show for all those who wished to attend, their sole aim to entertain and provoke both smiles and tears from their audience.

Caleb had listened to old women gush over reenactments of ill fated lovers and old men laugh heartily over memories of comedic portrayals of past heroes, a sound that had always seemed so foreign in the solemn halls of the Infinite City. They had spoken of faces encased by beautifully crafted masks and the intricate artwork that would be placed on a wall one day only to be faded the next. The younger adults too had regaled stories of the dancing that each night had ended with, of partners both stranger and friend, lost to tyranny and saved despite it, breaths mingling in their intimate closeness, chaste kisses stolen as the passion of the music thrummed through them.

To the ears of the boy it had seemed like a magnificent dream each speaker had somehow shared in.

His father had told Caleb that the year before Phobos forcibly took power he had taken his son to see the festival. He had been particularly taken by the masked tumblers he had been told, but it was no memory that the ex-rebel leader held. The only performances he could recall were those given in the depths of the rebel hideouts in an attempt to make solemn children smile and lift depressed morale. At their most simple, they had been to try and create an illusion of the normality that had been so brutally shattered. The several dances and parties – and one medieval festival that had involved the exhilarating experience of jousting the ever feisty Irma – he had attended on that wonderful place called Earth were all Caleb had to compare. Those and the boisterous celebrations following Elyon's coronation and return to power, following the uplifting sense of _freedom_.

Still, they had been nothing compared to the magnificent sight now before him. Caleb's breath had been all but stolen away, his eyes left wide in wonderment and mouth involuntarily curled upwards despite his withdrawn mood over the past few days. He absently wondered if Aldarn felt the same thrill he did as he watched the performers in front of him tumble once more round the space that acted as their stage.

Beside him Will and Elyon clapped as one of the figures garbed in a cherry red robe jumped to their feet and subsequently flipped backwards three times. Even Tom and Eleanor who guarded over their adoptive daughter looked impressed. The performer stood to face her partner who was also rising to his feet, each whipping out a nobly stick.

The two were play-acting a tale about a long past hero who had fought a renown and malicious thief. They moved back and forth, the swirling green robes of the villain contrasting the vibrant red of the one who would become the ultimate victor.

The dull thwack of the two sticks meeting brought a cheer from the crowd, morphing into laughter as the villain was sent sprawling onto the ground by his wisp of a challenger. He gave a mockery of a jumbled verbal abuse and wheezed heavily. The performer slithered forward on his hands chasing the story's heroine around the stage. The heroine comically beat him back with her stick and woven basket of flowers until she took a tumbling trip and the story's green clad villain slithered in to take the advantage.

And suddenly the crowds pressing in on Caleb from all sides seemed less jovial and more intimidating as the loud noises continued to rise to a volume that would almost rival those of a battlefield.

 _Danger!_

Caleb itched the bandages around his hands, then stopped and forced himself to breath. From the corner of his eye he spied the shadow of a red cape drifting closer. The former rebel closed his eyes and breathed again. He did not need to be confronted now, no matter how well intentioned it was. There was nothing wrong.

 _There is nothing wrong._

Another clatter of stick meeting stick in mock battle. Theatrical cackling that seemed more like hissing with the melodramatic wheezing that accompanied it broke the air for a few moments. Then the sticks clattered together once more. _Danger!_ Caleb's hands fisted then loosened. _No. There is no danger here…_

He stepped back, planning to make a quick and unseen bid for isolation or at least a place away from the off-putting scene. Turning – a smile making its way back onto his face briefly as a figure leaped from one rooftop to the next across the somewhat narrow street, wrapped in a banner that blazed blue against the darkening sky and warm glow of torches – the ex-rebel leader knocked into another being. He blinked, looking down and found himself fixed fast by the ecstatic beam of one Air Guardian.

"Isn't this amazing?" Hay Lin said. "Have you seen the paintings on display nearer to the palace? Do you know when the dancing starts? Where's Taranee and Irma and Cornelia? What I wouldn't give for the chance to design costumes like the ones they are wearing… Where are you going?"

Caleb almost found himself smiling again at the girl's bubbly chatter. As it was a small grin snuck onto his face unseen. "I take it you are enjoying yourself."

"Ooo, yes! I was even thinking that maybe I would see if the painters would let me give some of their street art a try. Maybe I could paint your portrait on a wall. A good wall with good sunlight, maybe near a tree or two staring up at the sky…" The girl's speech devolved into near incoherent mumbling. There was a dogged shine to her eye that did not bode well for any unfortunate friends that were the objective of it.

"Why don't you see if Blunk want's his portrait painted? He would be more than willing," Caleb interrupted, less than willing to be the subject of Hay Lin's gaze.

As much as the young commander appreciated her skills in creating beautiful things from different materials, he was less appreciative of being the focus of said beautiful things. Especially when they put his face in public. The ex-rebel had never liked an overt amount of attention. When it did not put him on edge it made him distinctly uncomfortable, the feeling of many eyes upon him disconcerting when he had learnt to keep to the shadows so well. So no. He would prefer to not be the subject of Hay Lin's art.

"Are you sure? I could get a really nice picture of you with a sun-"

Suddenly she cut herself off, all but slamming her hands to her mouth. Caleb raised an eyebrow in amusement. Behind him, the crowd cheered once more as the heroine sprung to her feet and atop her foe's shoulders in one smooth move. The wheezing became a chorus of groaning pleads and desperate tempting. Offers of immortality, love, immortal love, the universe and, strangely, an array of flowers and sticks were put forth. All were all met with a resounding 'no' and the accompanying thwack of a stick.

"I'm sure," Caleb said to the girl before him. "I don't think anyone has painted Blunk before."

Hay Lin's eyes lit up with excitement. It appeared she had been suitably distracted from her creative mind's original subject.

"With a bunch of flowers or maybe a green banner or, oh! A red one! That would bring out his colouring well. And maybe with some of those masks, the big ones with the feathers and cloth hanging off them," Hay Lin clapped her hands. "Oh! I bet he will love it! Do you know where he is?"

Caleb grinned. It appeared he had done his good deed for the day. "He was trying to sell to the artists the last I saw."

The young commander stiffened as Hay Lin grabbed him for a hug. He returned it quickly enough, grinning further as the Air Guardian's smile widened in return. Then she was off, offering equally brief and enthusiastic farewells to Elyon and Will.

With another subtle glance at the red cape shadowing him, Caleb also strode away from the crowd. For a few moments he wandered aimlessly, trying not to think of snakes whilst trying to imagine Blunk sitting for Hay Lin's painting. For the most part he was succeeding. The small part that was not forcibly turned its focus back to the festivities around him. That in turn directed his thoughts back to Aldarn.

Now the young human had a goal, an aim, spurred by the desire to see his close friend amongst the merriment and liveliness that saturated the atmosphere. He moved through the streets to where he had last seen the young Galhot near the palace entrance. There were sights everywhere drawing his eyes, making his attention wander a little more than the former rebel was used to. Yet he could not help himself.

It was this lack of attention which brought about the next incident. Caleb was sending a passing glance over an group of children springing around beneath the legs of a performer clearly parodying an overly strict mother when he collided with someone as equally distracted. They gabbed his arms to both steady unlucky beings before quickly letting go. Yet, it was only when Aldarn's came into view that Caleb's hands loosened from their tight position.

"Caleb! Sorry, I did not see you." The young captain placed a hand on his head in embarrassment. His friend only grinned and shook his head.

"I was just as distracted," Caleb admitted. "This festival is really something, isn't it?"

Aldarn's smile was perhaps the widest Caleb had ever seen it save for when Phobos had finally been overthrown.

"I know!" his friend replied, enthusiasm colouring each word a vibrant shade of joy. "Have you seen performers in the giant purple masks with the Hoogong feathers? And to think I though that old man Hayes was lying when he told us that he had seen men on stilts mimic the courtship of the birds to the timing of twenty drums. And the tumblers! I cannot believe my eyes! It is only the first evening and I already think that I am dreaming!"

Caleb laughed. He beamed back at his good friend caught up in the latter's own happiness. There was no trace of the fear that had grasped Aldarn the days before, no trace of the shakiness that had besieged him in his shining eyes.

"I feel the same way," the young human said. "But if we were dreaming I think Drake would have already woken us for our own guard duty with that endearing grumbling mood he possesses in the morning."

Aldarn gave a short bark of laughter, but Caleb's own smile dimmed a little as his thoughts progressed further down an unwanted path. He fingered the bandages around his hands, consciously keeping his fists from clenching. He steeled a flinch as from the corner of his eye the parodied mother managed to all but hit one rascally child with a broom as they raced away laughing. An unintended parallel, it was nevertheless a reminder of how _she_ had looked at him after he his rejection and perceived disobedience during their first real confrontation as… with _her._

The young commander did, however, turn his head when a shadow appeared behind him as expected, a firm hand laid on his shoulder.

"Ah, Aldarn," came his father's voice. "I hope you will not mind if I steal my son for a while."

Aldarn smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. There are still six more days of this-" He swept out an arm to encompass all the sights his words could not. "-To enjoy with Caleb."

"Enjoying yourself then?" Drake asked with a smile from where he stood by Julian's side, red cape and all.

"It's wonderful!" came Aldarn's reply. "I don't know what to do next."

"How about you come and watch me beat Vathek in a drinking challenge," Drake said, draping one arm around the young Gahlot.

"Don't the two of you have that challenge once every two weeks?" Aldarn asked.

"But how often have you seen the participants being forced to wear elaborate dresses to compete?"

Their voices faded as the pair travelled away from father and son to be lost in the crowds. Caleb's father, in turn, began to guide his son in a different direction heading for what soon appeared to be an isolated spot where worries about overly curious eavesdroppers would be almost wholly unfounded.

They came to a halt in a nook formed by the join of two corner stores. The younger human turned to face his older counterpart with the sheen of question in his eyes. It was not he who did the first asking, however.

"Are you alright?"

"I am fine, father," Caleb answered. He did not notice the way the older man's jaw tightened in something akin to well restrained anger at his words. Rather, the youth's head was bowed in well guarded thought. It did not take long for some of that thought to leak through in a carefully monitored manner. "What happened?"

"You became overwhelmed by panic," came the man's response.

Caleb shook his head. "No. I mean to Eric. What happened to Eric? Why did he think that-" a barely audible swallow "-Cedric was free and after him?"

Julian held back a sigh. "Eric is fine-"

"Except for whatever drove him to think that a still locked up monster was chasing him through a forest." The words were spoken with the tone of someone who would neither appreciate lies or coddling. Caleb stared at his father. "What happened?"

"If you would let me finish, I can tell you," Julian frowned at him.

Caleb rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry…"

And there it was. The little sign that his son had not quite fully matured to manhood. The father in Julian clung to it with all the gracious hope he had even as his head nodded in acknowledgement of the apology.

"As I was saying, Eric is fine now," the man repeated. "Although we could not convince him to join the festivities."

Julian would not admit how he thought it had been the better decision. As much as Eric needed company and distraction, such a crowded, noisy place would not be conducive to his condition.

"He is still-" a glance towards his son's bandaged hands "-on edge though. From what we could gather, he did not think Cedric had escaped. He thought Cedric had not been caught at all."

"What?" Caleb's shock was almost as potent as his shock when Edric had come crashing though the trees. Almost.

"It appears Edric forgot that we had won. He was re-experiencing a memory from early on in the…Rebellion." If Caleb noticed that he was being carefully watched by the speaker he did not show it. Julian inhaled and continued on. "It was a memory where he and his raid party were indeed being chased by Cedric. Only he got out of it alive."

The man paused as his son took this in. The young commander mulled over the information, a slight crease on his brow where his thinking had tapped into a mine of worry.

"He forgot that we won?" The question would have seemed timid if not for the authoritative voice that Caleb had fallen back on out of instinct.

"He was caught up in a memory, enthralled by it, bewitched even. He did not know it _was_ a memory when he set off running."

"Is that common?"

His father shook his head. "To that degree? Not in my experience, but I have known many over the years who have thought for several moments that the memory playing in their head was real. Some would freeze in place with a distant gaze as the scenes that played before them, but had not played for anyone else in days, months or years. Others would break under the strain of reliving their worst experiences becoming near inconsolable even to those who knew them best."

If that was not a blatantly subtle hint of what was coming than nothing was. Caleb had certainly picked up on the course the conversation was about to charge down. From the tensing of his muscles and almost clenching of his fists the young commander's thoughts about the subject change could be accurately deciphered.

"Can we not talk about this?"

"Caleb. We _need_ to talk about this."

The voice's tone indicated that whilst everyone had been walking a tightrope around him over any topic that was not Blunk making off with Vathek's meal once more, that would not be an option for this conversation. The idea was further cemented in the young ex-rebel leader's mind at his father's next words.

" _You_ need to talk about this."

Silently wishing for his hands to not shake and feeling no small amount of relief when they did not, Caleb straightened his back and stared the older man in the eye.

"What happened, son?" Julian's voice had softened, although it was no less stern in its command for an answer. "Did you have a-"

"No," came the sharp response as Caleb anticipated what was going to be asked.

"So you knew where you were?"

"No…" This answer was less certain of itself. "Look, can we not… Can we just leave it?"

The level of his distress must have been evident for his father nodded, moving to take his son's hands in his own. He stopped when Caleb moved back shaking his head.

"Besides, I am fine."

The hard jaw was back and this time Caleb noticed.

"Caleb, you and I both know that is a lie." Julian's voice was calm, his face a neutral mask save the growing crease upon his brow, but his inner unseen depths moved with the same frustrated anger that had been provoked when the same words had been spoken so foolishly before the incident a mere two days ago.

Caleb's own insides began to simmer with heat. "I think I can judge my own wellbeing."

"And I think that after what happened your judgment is questionable," his father replied in the same near forced calm. "You should know better than to keep such things to yourself."

"What is going on in my head is for my head alone. Unless it affects my duty-"

"I do not _care_ about your duty!" The words were not shouted, but they were the first words to be as heated. Julian's frown deepened to rival the caverns that lined Meridian's rocky face. "What I care about and what concerns me more is _you_."

The youth opened his mouth in argument but found himself abruptly cut off as his father plowed onwards with his own reasoning.

"I cannot lose you. Do you understand, Caleb? I cannot lose you. Not to Phobos. Not to Cerdic. Not to Nerissa. Not to this." Julian ignored the way his son flinched at the mention of his mother, his point too important a one to make to be hindered by such discomfort. "I will _not_ lose you if I can prevent it."

The man took a breath as his eyes, hardened with determination and simmering frustration from the past several days, bore into his son's own. There was a sheen of wetness there in the young brown orbs – whether from frustration or something else Julian did not know. Whatever reason for its presence, it did not fall. For it to do so was too much of a childish reaction for someone so distinctly not a child.

Julian grit his teeth and strengthened his resolve further. He would not see more than Caleb's childhood stolen from him.

"You will not keep anything like what happened from me if it happens again. You will _not_ insist you are fine and continue with your duties when you are not fine and another can take your place. The Rebellion is over."

"But I am still a guard, a soldier. I am still a commander," Caleb argued, his reasoning tainted with the subtle echoes of resigned despair of the war weary.

"You are my _son_." Julian would not back down.

"And I have a duty to the Queen! I have a duty to Meridian! I cannot just overlook that. If I don't stand guard, if I don't keep watch, if I don't fight when fighting is needed, than who will?"

There it was. The crux of the problem. The unspoken question that drove the young ex-rebel leader: w _ho will ensure that Meridian stays free even when it seems that its freedom is not being threatened? Especially then?_

It was a question that was in turn driven by another: _what if this paradise should fall once more?_

Whatever the answer, it certainly did not include Caleb abandoning his sword for good.

Julian found himself faced with the same uncompromising sense of dedication and responsibility that had initially driven a barrier between his son and the recipient of his son's love. Now it was driving a barrier between them.

The boy had been raised on duty. He had developed amongst it. He had been taught duty and made to witness his first brutality for duty. He had been forced to wield his own brutal sword in the face of duty. He had lost his father to duty. He had nearly lost his own life because of duty. And, after all the duty forcing nightmares had been removed, that duty still stubbornly remained ingrained in the boy.

Julian inhaled. There was more to life than duty. He, who had experienced the times before tyrants reigned with an iron fist and razor will, knew that better than any child who thought that their entire world barely remained skating atop a bubbling pit chaotic destruction. There were times of war and there were times of peace. Now that war had ended it was peace that ruled. Caleb was, while understandably set in his opinion – an opinion softened by his exploits on Earth – wrong to believe that peace was so fragile that the merest hint of a whisper's breath could shatter it into a thousand belligerent fragments.

Yet his son was not wrong either. _Someone_ had to be on guard to ensure Meridian did not fall prey to another tyrant, another monster, another evil thing that lurked in the dark dank bowels of the universe. Someone had to ensure the loss and heartache of before had not been in vain.

 _It's alright to be afraid._ But what use were such words when fear meant letting down one's guard, and letting down one's guard meant the fall of paradise? But one could still fall even if paradise did not. Eric was one example. Julian refused for his son to be another.

"Caleb, son, you are not alone in this," he said slowly. "And yet you seem to forget that. Why do you not talk to us? Any of us? Do you not trust us?"

It was perhaps the wrong thing to say, despite being the right thing as well. Caleb shied back without moving physically, his face becoming shuttered and his fingers lurking dangerously close to his bandaged palms.

"I don't talk because I don't need to. I am fine."

As the three words were spoken once more something in Julian snapped.

'No, you are not! Caleb, you need to let someone in. When it comes to things like nightmares and panicking, the men who refuse to accept that everything is not fine are the ones who lose more than just their sleep."

He knew his words were harsh, but the man could see no other way to get his message heard. As it was, his anger was doing its best to control his tongue, albeit unsuccessfully, lending a further hardness to his voice. And still the boy refused to listen.

"You cannot force me to share what I don't want to share."

And therein laid the problem. Caleb would not bare his soul, his fears, without being forced and Julian, for all his yelling, would not truly force his son to do so. They both knew it. They both knew that each other knew they knew it. So they were left at this uncomfortable stalemate, this impasse built of duty and terror and need, both to save and survive, that they could not surpass.

Yet neither would give either. To them their place was too important a one to hold, and so they remained at their impasse staring at each other with eyes more frustrated than anything else.

With nothing left that was able to be said, Caleb turned away first.

He all but fled, dodging and weaving between watchers and performers alike in his angry strides until the shadows in the corner of his eyes found themselves well and truly lost. Masks loomed from the sun's fading light like the grotesque mugs of monsters once faced, but no longer existent.

 _They do not exist._

But despite the smiling faces around him Caleb could not believe the thought. Instead it fueled his anger towards his father, towards himself. If monsters existed then not being fine would not cut it. Not be fine could not cut it, could not be it. And to abandon his duty as watcher and protector…

The ex-rebel leader would have given a short barking laugh had not the same instincts which had lost his unwanted tail also tasked itself with keeping him silent. If he allowed himself down off the high floating wave that his anger had borne, then he could feel the sharp edges of weary hollowness and something else he was less happy to admit breeding in his heart.

He could not abandon his duty; that had to come first before even himself, before even her. It was the core of who he was, the thread that had finished sewing him together as he had grown from boy to-

His eyes caught a glimpse of a drawn face in the shine of a glass window pane. Deep lines seemed to cross the skin even though they appeared nowhere on it, ghostly signs of a fatigue that had less to do with sleep and more to do with spirit. The eyes seemed both dull and burning all at once. The mouth looked as though it had nearly forgotten how to smile.

 _To this._

The ex-rebel leader's steps began to slow in pace as his frustration eased towards the back of his mind, still simmering away but no longer propelling him forward. His hands fisted than fell loose, more out of lack of will than anything else.

He was tired. Of what was hard to say, there was just too much. He was worried about Eric, about memories becoming real and reality being discovered as nothing but a mere memory. He was worried about being tired and tired of being worried.

The nightmares that had plagued him the past couple of nights did not help either.

Caleb absently took note of the dwindling number of performers and the painters who were finishing their works in the last of the day's light as he walked. Music too was beginning to drift through the air and his fury, signaling that the night's dancing would soon begin. Words also drifted through the air as he wandered past one particular street, familiar and argumentative words.

"If you think I am going to join in one of those tumbling acts, you can think again. I do not want to get my hair dirty."

"Come _on_ , Corny. What's a little dirt? Not like you have power over it or anything."

"Don't call me 'Corny' and a 'little dirt' to you always ends up with me covered in muck!"

The voice of the first speaker pulled Caleb unconsciously towards it as though it were a magnet and the boy a stray piece of iron caught by its invisible alluring force.

"Babe, after all this time I still don't know how _you_ became the Guardian of Earth."

"It's because she is more beautiful than any flower in the universe."

Irma raised her eyebrows at Caleb's comment and smirked. "Are you sure it's not because the people she choses to date have mud for brains?"

"Speak for yourself. My brains are perfectly intact and mud free," came the good-natured answer.

"Hey, play nice you two," she cut in from where Caleb had wrapped his arms around her slender waist.

Irma shrugged. "He started it."

"How did I-" the former rebel spluttered indignantly.

"Well, your overwhelming concern about your hair and questionable choice in boyfriends is not going to stop me from having fun," the Water Guardian cut in over the top. "See you round."

Like her element, Irma evaporated into the air leaving Caleb alone with the girl in his arms. She turned to face him, eyes honing in on the stark white replacing his usual gloves.

"What happened to your hands?"

"I cut them," Caleb replied forcing himself to refrain from scratching the bandages.

"On what?"

The ex-rebel leader did not reply.

She narrowed her eyes. "Caleb." The tone was not one to be ignored.

"It wasn't intentional. I didn't even realise I had been clenching my fists so hard until after it happened," he gave in, rubbing his forehead partially in a poor attempt to shield his eyes.

"What happened?" Her tone had softened even as her own gaze pierced the frustrated and anguished depths of his own. "What's wrong?"

Caleb looked away. He could not form the words on his tongue even if he wanted to.

"Fine," she breathed, her golden hair brushing against his coat as she leaned forward. One slender hand reached up to cup his cheek. "But just so you know, I've heard that talking helps."

Her face drifted away leaving the tantalising prospects of a kiss unanswered. Instead she took up his bandaged hands in her own. The tension in them dissipated almost immediately as the music began to take a fuller form in the atmosphere.

"Dance with me." It was more a demand than a request, but the honeyed tone of her voice nevertheless sent shivers down his spine. Pleasant shivers.

Lutes and bells and thrumming drums began a steady beat. It was different to the music present at the Earth parties he had partaken in and the songs that she liked listening to. Instead of standing apart, they pushed close together like the other couples that were slowly flooding the street in place of sole figures retreating to the edges watching, waiting for the magic of past tales to be brought back to life.

Their fingers linked further together, her chest brushing against his, their feet avoiding each others' in a complex twist. Her hair swung out and back around. Caleb's lips twitched into a smile.

The pair shifted back and forth with the same grace that she used in summoning her brazen element and he used in avoiding the notice of others. Round they spun, taking a step back then to the side as they spun again with the others around them.

Her head came to rest on his shoulder, contented sighs brushing the skin of Caleb's neck. If he had to choose to relive a single moment for the rest of his life it would be the one he was in now. In that moment there were no bad dreams or threats of death. In that moment there were no panicked confrontations or shaking hands or demands that he could not fulfill, or duties that he had to.

In that moment there was only him and her.

So, as the sky turned ever blacker, they danced the dance of lively youths from fanciful tales in despairing worlds, twirling and dipping to the rolling passion of the music that hung in the air around their own young and ardent love.

* * *

 **Alright. So the quality of this might be a bit bodge because I wanted/needed to get this done so I could get back to studying (I'm one of those people who has an incessant drive to finish a chapter once started...). Hopefully it is alright and the characters are all in character.**

 **Also, I don't know whether such a festival is a thing in Meridian (and I don't think it is to be honest. So sue me…or don't because I am not that rich to be able to afford it ;) Anyway, I needed something that the gang could be involved in that involved, in part, dancing. I felt like this would be a plausible thing in a kind of medieval society (so to speak) – a celebration of acting, dancing, music (i.e. the arts). And I also felt like it would highlight the change between a certain tyrant's rule and that of Elyon – I doubt Phobos would have allowed such festivities during his reign and I thought it would be good to explore how such traditions can thrive again under Elyon. I also thought it would be interesting to explore given that – if Elyon is 13 and Caleb 15 when the first season happens, and Phobos came into power at Elyon's birth (which I am assuming happened) - Caleb would have been 2 when Phobos became a tyrant and so would not remember such festivals. I thought that sort of thing would be interesting to explore with his character (and Aldarn's a bit as well) given he was mainly raised in a brutal dictatorship/civil war/rebellion.**

 **On another note, as you can see, this continued on from the previous chapter exploring some of the consequences and rounding Caleb's reaction to it. I don't plan to have his and Julian's anger with each other extending for too long, however I do think the anger is in character. It deals with the Julian's budding anger as a father from last chapter at Caleb denying anything was wrong and rejecting help (when he obviously needed it) to his own detriment – and Julian's frustration at being unable to help – which he couldn't express last chapter properly given the situation. Likewise, it explores Caleb's inability to ask for such help or truly accept his situation (based off my assumption he would have been forced to learn to not depend on anyone or show weakness, as well as him having developed a deeply ingrained instinctive need to maintain control of himself and situations in order to survive – which losing control of his body and emotions last chapter shattered). Hopefully ther argument was alright... I wasn't too sure about how well I wrote it.**

 **Anyway, I am taking suggestions/requests (the next two chapters will be fulfilling two such requests when I get around to writing them).**

 **I hoped you enjoyed reading this, and I hope even more that you will be kind enough to review (thanks to those who already have, and have favourited and/or followed this story - it is much appreciated).**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **Sorry for the long wait, but hopefully this chapter will make up for it. Timeline wise, this is probably set a few weeks after the last chapter (in regards to more than just the length of time it took for me to update. Sorry again about that...)**

* * *

For once it had not been him who had woken up in the early hours of morning in sweat drenched sheets and clothes. For once it was not him who was struggling not to cry out into the night for fear of waking everyone else within the vicinity up. For once it was not _him_ having the nightmare. But he wished with everything he had that it was.

"It was just a nightmare," he murmured into her hair. She merely cried harder, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders and his like the branches from a willow tree.

Caleb was at a loss for what to do.

In the heat of battle when he was about to die, when he was about to let the most precious bloom in his life be blown away to her own epic fight he had never been more sure in his life. Then the sword in his hand bore the weight of reality. The sweat on his skin was a rain more familiar than any summer shower. The beads of red that dripped from wounds was another type of perspiration all together, one that made him thrum with life. Then he had known what he wanted and took it without remorse, without regret. Lips crashing on lips for fear they would never meet again; there was nothing more certain than that last moment lovers steal in the face of all but certain death.

Yet that moment had not consisted of weepy flowers, but strong ones. It had been her at her best and most powerful.

Now she was clinging to him in a way that froze his heart despite their intoxicating proximity.

Caleb glanced around the room of sleeping bodies. Irma had invited them to a sleep over of sorts, her parents happy enough after having met Caleb – although insisted he sleep in a separate room, a point rendered mute since her distressed cries had pulled him from his insomniac act into the room in any case after most of the night had been spent talking – and the Water Guardian's little brother was at his own sleepover. In the gloom of the darkened room, none of the others were awake. The flower and her soldier were alone in their consciousness, or at least it seemed that way until a typically sarcastic gaze met the concern in Caleb's own eyes.

The other pair of eyes blinked. There was a trust there in them, a thanks and an I.O.U. that Caleb could be certain would be fulfilled. He closed his own and held the weeping Guardian closer to him, murmuring once again in her ear in an attempt to stem her tears.

If he could take up his sword and slay the terrors in her head like he had the monsters in Phobos' arsenal…

He tightened his grip once more round that ever beautiful flower. Looking around at the room of slumbering girls – those eyes had rolled over and were making a poor attempt at feigning sleep to his trained eyes – Caleb made to stand. Maybe a change of scene would help.

At first her hands resisted his movement, pulling him back to the ground like roots to a wayward trunk. Another moment and he might have stayed, but then she blessedly gave and stood with him.

The shadows seemed to bend around them as they moved, almost like a dance but not quiet as they weaved between pillows and blankets and bodies. Behind the blinds that covered the windows the beginnings of dawn were suitably muffled. They were more successful in breaching the house's threshold in the kitchen however, and Caleb had to blink to adjust his eyesight from gloom to light.

The first place he looked, once doing so, was her.

His seventeen year old heart thumped in his chest painfully, aching to free itself and fly to that flower he held and wipe away her distress. It settled for two thumbs to dry the wetness that glistened on her face like dew drops in the morning sun. In Caleb's opinion, dew simply marred to beauty of the flora it settled upon.

"Hey, it was just a dream." _Just a dream._

The ex-rebel leader ignored the snake-men that began to slither circles around his head atop crushed flowers. The only bloom that he needed to worry about in that moment was the one drooping before him.

That brought him back to the question of what to do.

Words were not his forte. Sure he could use them to battle wits with Irma and cut the ego of villains in two, but words, true words, words that exposed the soft belly of who he was were a different breed.

Silence had been the teaching pushed upon him as a child. Silence was safe. Silence was secure. Silence kept secrets that needed to be kept about you and those around you. Silence had been the knight of the Resistance where words had been its barbed armour. Silence was the serious lurker in the shadows to the fool in the light. Silence was all he knew how to offer true comfort.

He had always been told by Drake that his eyes spoke better speeches than his mouth.

He tilted the flower's blonde head up towards him, gentle as ever when touching that petal soft skin. Her hand quivered where it came to touch his own.

 _I've got you,_ his eyes spoke where they tried to meet her own crying ones. _I've got you. I've got you. I've got you._

Caleb held her closer, cupping her hands, not even frowning at their still continuing adrenaline and fear driven trembles as he gazed at her with everything he had. Every so often a small sob would break free from her throat. They were not loud and not as constant as they had been when he had first pulled her from a too restless sleep, but they were there nonetheless like Phobos' maniacal grin in the ex-rebel's mind.

He would not let her continuing fear be another product of that tyrant's pretty rule.

"I've got you," the boy finally said aloud.

She curled into him for a moment like a fern retreating from the frost to safety. There in the kitchen she was warmed more by him than the sun's growing rays, slowly, slowly coaxed to look out at the world again.

After a while she pulled away and looked around the kitchen, searching for a comfort and distraction other than the living, breathing human in front of her. Eventually she turned her gaze back to him.

Caleb watched as his weepy flower sniffed.

"Do you want hot chocolate?" she asked in a smooth voice thickened by anguish, but still far from ugly, never ugly to Caleb's ears.

Her hands still trembled slightly as she took down one mug. The sight of it was wrong. If anyone should be shaking it was him, not her, never her.

Caleb covered the graceful appendages with his own large hands, guiding the mug safely down to the bench. He reached back for another and placed it next to the first, a pair like them. The free hand reached back to the one it had temporarily abandoned snatching fingers away from combing anxiously through hair. She needed words, not his silence, so he took a breath and tried.

"It's alright," he murmured in his flower's ear.

The words had an all too familiar ring to them that stirred up the dregs of an anger that had begun to simmer at more of a frustration at his father, at himself for being unable to bring himself to believe in those words. But this, now, was not about him. She was the one racked with tremours, not him. She was the one who needed to be reassured, not him. So he forced those words, that lie out once again fighting every thump of his heart and instinct to make fists out of peaceful hands.

"It's alright," he managed to say again without chocking.

She leaned her head into his chest. A moment passed and she sighed, her eyes finally free of that wetness Caleb so detested in them.

"If we're going to have a drink I'm going to need to make something to drink," the flower said.

She pulled out a carton of milk and sniffed it, setting it down on the counter with a look of disgust. Reaching back into the fridge, she pulled out a jug of juice and filled the two mugs with it instead. It was closer to day than night in any case and juice made for a better breakfast drink than hot chocolate. At least that was what she reasoned with herself. In her household hot chocolate was for nighttime and nightmares. What she had was technically not a _night_ mare if sunlight was now lazily crashing against the kitchen windows.

Yeah right.

The flower turned away from the light towards another body that willingly gave her its warmth and nurtured a spark of life within her form.

"What was it about?" It was the first time he had spoken those words.

Then she did something unexpected. Amidst the shakiness that had descended upon her, she gave a small laugh.

"Something silly," came the flower's words.

"Nothing's silly if it scares you," Caleb said. _If it hurts you._

That small laugh echoed around the kitchen once more. "It really is. With how everything turned out, it really is."

She sniffed again, wiping her nose on his shirt despite having berated so many before for the same disgusting habit. Caleb merely folded atop her in resignation, smiling unseen as she giggled again to his detriment. Then she sobered.

"We were at a pond, just the two of us." The tale begun with the same mood that a rustling field of white lilies brought to mourners. "We were tiny compared to everything else. The trees, the lily pads, the flies… And you insisted on riding every giant fly you came across. Dragged me with you too."

She clutched Caleb tighter, the ghostly smile from her last words fading fast.

"You'd finally convinced me to walk with you close to the water's edge when a giant frog leapt out from the water. It was followed by a whole horde, all leaping out from the water which was suddenly teeming with them. And one stopped in front of us and croaked at you and you…you…you…"

"If you can't tell me-" Caleb began softly, understanding in his voice and apprehension in his heart. He did not want to hear what he had done if it made flowers sound like funeral bells.

"No," she shook her head. "I can…I can do this." A breath. "You…" Another shaking breath. "You suddenly dropped my hand. You… went with the frog whilst staring at me the entire way. And when it leapt away another one came up and I…I couldn't… It almost _squashed_ me flat. But that wasn't what hurt the most."

Here she looked up at him, eyes damp once more but hands finally stilling.

"You left me."

And damn if those words, brim full of sorrow, did not sting.

It did not matter if that he had left her for a frog, if that was indeed what he had done. It did not matter that it was a dream; it only made it worse that it had been hers. He had abandoned her and she had almost died because of it.

Caleb's heart did more than clench a little at that, figurative nails digging into the vital muscle drawing blood with a stark viciousness as he unconsciously pushed away from her.

"Caleb?"

 _Dammit!_ He was supposed to be the one comforting her, not the other way around. He would not let it become the other way around.

"That would never happen," he said. It was not good enough. He could still feel her gaze on him, worrying their pretty blue depths about him. "Like Blunk's stink, once I'm here you can never get rid of me!"

 _Smile._ _Smile, dammit! Grin like your life depends on it._

"Caleb," said the daintily raised eyebrow, unimpressed. It did not push further, however much it did not buy his snarky expression. The lips below did twitch a little, ever amused at the stupid antics he would go through for her, always for her.

This time his smile was more genuine.

"So, you were almost squashed by a giant frog and I left you for another one?" The ex-rebel leader rubbed the back of his head. "Gees. I'm not Will, you know."

"You would have nightmares too if you slept that close to Will's frog covered feet."

That thought sent them both into a soft round of chuckles.

The scenario did not seem to make sense when Caleb thought about it. Surely such a dream, no matter how horrific the frogs looked, would render her to such a drastic case of tears. Yet it was close enough to the truth that he could suspect the rest fairly accurately. After all, he too had nights when he woke in a sweat desperate to clutch at the rarest of blooms if only to reassure himself she was alive. If he brushed her arm whilst sipping his drink to similarly reassure himself of her realness in that moment…

As long as she always proved real, it did not matter to the love-struck boy how many times he needed to be reassured of it.

She was quiet for a while, after that, a graceful flower that had steadied after a great tempest that had tried and failed to tear up the deepest of taproots.

"I've been doing some research," that honeyed voice finally said. "Often people who have been subject to trauma, like soldiers, and experience nightmares and anxiety suffer from something called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

The remaining juice in Caleb's mug rapidly disappeared as he drank it to have something else to do than look her in her magnificent and concerned eyes.

"One nightmare doesn't mean there's something wrong with you," he said.

"I've had more than one," she replied honestly.

Ceramic almost cracked with the force with which Caleb's hands tightened. Her words had struck a blow right where the almost-man had carefully let down his most guarded walls for her. To think that she was suffering, to think her nights were plagued like his were… But she was not finished speaking.

"You've had more, though."

And that statement, those words Caleb could not deny. More than would not, he could not deny them for he so badly wished they were true.

She brushed a hand against his arm. "You listened to me about my nightmare, Caleb. Please, will you listen some more? You don't have to say anything, just listen."

How could he deny what flowers whispered in his ears? How could he disregard the trance he was always caught in whenever his eyes laid themselves upon her? How could he refuse this graceful girl before him? It was as impossible as a father tearing out the heart of his son.

"Alright."

That word again, made less potent for only being half of an incessant pair.

 _"It's alright to be afraid, son."_

A lie that only one knew was true.

Caleb's hands fisted and then unclenched to rest against her own proffered ones. He sighed. "What do you want me to hear?"

His world paused as she inhaled, a blossom amongst the brown branches of a sugarplum tree. "There are people here who need to seek help for their reactions to traumatic events. Being attacked, almost dying, being in war – sometimes it takes a greater toll than one thought."

And here she inhaled again. This was hard, trying to remember the research she had found, trying to channel Taranee when it would be so much easier for her to have her fire wielding friend to rattle off the facts in her place. But looking into his eyes shuttered by denial even to her, fractured by deep hurt – how could she not go on? How could she not attempt to try herself? Remembering her nightmare of frogs and something more sinister, how could she fail to extend her hand to help a second time?

"Often people like soldiers return from war and the stress they experienced makes them…not themselves." They both winced at the unintentionally thorny words, both trying to hide it from each other. "Is it not the same in Meridian after everything? Does Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder exist for people there too?"

"It's not Post-Traumatic… We don't have a name for it. A lot of soldiers got nightmares even before Phobos' rule. Vathek told me," Caleb frowned. "And a lot of the rebels get nightmares." His thoughts turned to Eric. "Some even-"

"Have flashbacks and memories they think are a little too real?" she asked.

Caleb said nothing.

"Look, whatever you call it, I am here for you."

Caleb smiled a smile of love and solemnness. A smile of acceptance, at least once for her care. "And I you."

A silence descended between the pair in which mugs were abandoned on the bench in place of the boy and girl taking ahold of each other. Their foreheads met, their eyes closed as they breathed the breath of their lover, the moment too intimate for a mere kiss.

He stilled beneath her hands as her last exhale running through his blood, humming that song that only hopelessly, helplessly true lovers know. Flaxen hair brushed his arms and cheeks and neck like a silken cloth. Swallowing his heart's aching protest at being separated from a substance more addictive than any drug, Caleb pulled away and stood firm in front of her.

"If you ever need me," he said looking into her eyes. "If you ever have another nightmare, just send for me and I will come."

"Even if you need to guard Elyon?" she asked seriously, frogs no doubt jumping on her mind. "Even if Meridian was falling to pieces around you?"

The young commander did not look away, but it was a near thing. He frowned once more. She sighed.

"I know. I _know,_ " she said, resigned. But then she met his gaze, a flame so uncharacteristic of her element, yet not of her, burning fiercely in her eyes. Her hands went to the sides of his face, holding him in place. "Look, do what you need to do. Only promise me that no matter what you do, no matter what happens, you will come back here to me. I can't lose you."

 _"I cannot lose you."_

It seemed a lot of people were opposed to losing him in the past weeks. Yet, hearing her say that sent a warm glow through him that had nothing to do with the sunlight now slowly streaming into the room.

 _"I can't lose you."_

Her plea seemed to be driven by something more than mere thoughts – perhaps the contents of her nightmare… He closed his eyes and pressed his head against her forehead, breathing in the floral scent that surrounded her.

 _I can't lose you._

She was not the only one with such sentiments.

"I promise."

She exhaled in relief. Her hands pulled his head forward for a quick kiss before releasing him. Then she pulled him in for another, far longer one that left the former rebel leader red faced and breathless.

"Get a room you two," came a familiar drawl from behind them.

Those sweet lips shrieked as she pulled away from Caleb, blushing furiously. "What are you doing here Irma?"

"Getting a glass of water. And breakfast," the Water Guardian added after some consideration.

Caleb suspected that she had also come to warn them of the others who he could hear were stirring back to the waking world with all the grace of an army of Blunks. The slight nodding wink she sent him confirmed it. They were now even. It was a fact worth celebrating in the young commander's mind.

"Caleb!"

Flaxen hair tangled in his face indignantly as he broke off laughing.

"How I put up with you…"

"I think it's a question of how _he_ puts up with _you_ , babe," Irma snarked.

" _He_ messed up my hair!"

"As selfless as ever, I see."

"Like you're the poster girl for poster girls." A flick of that ever silken hair which dropped as she realised what _he_ was doing. "Caleb! Don't drink-"

"Too late," Irma cut in as her laughter rebounded against the wall. "I guess pancakes and cereal are out of the question."

Caleb merely continued coughing in a futile attempt to get the sour tasting milk out of his mouth. He placed the cartoon back on the bench and backed away from it in disgust.

"Toast isn't, though," said that flowery voice as she relinquished her mug of juice to one in more dire a need of it.

"Toast it is then!" Irma said cheerily making her way to where the loaf of bread was kept. "Two slices or one?"

"Three," came Will's groan as she trudged through the door with a serious case of bedhead. She took up the recently re-abandoned cartoon of milk and dumped it in the trash can at its awful smell. "Make that four. What's wrong with you?"

Irma and the tall blonde beside her hastily covered their mouths as Caleb sent the redhead a glare. He turned away, continuing to swish the juice from the mug a flower had given him to cleanse the taste of off milk from his mouth.

"What's for breakfast?" Taranee said as she stumbled in.

"Toast," groaned Will.

"Toast?"

"Toast!" a voice too cheery for that early in the morning cried.

"How? Just…how?" Taranee asked Hay Lin as she dropped to the floor by the fridge still under the linger tendrils of the Sandman's potent spell.

Will groaned in agreement. "It's like…" she began, waving a hand. Then she stopped. "Actually, I don't know what it's like. I can't think this early. Where's the toast?"

And as the two morning-made zombies shied away from the energetic gush of fresh morning air that was Hay Lin, the flower and her commander stole another kiss. They pulled quickly apart, glancing around to notice that the intimate moment had only been witnessed by a certain Water Guardian, yet her debt had already been repaid in full. So when the flower dipped back in for another a spray of water and snarky comment drew the attention of both zombies and gush of air alike.

Caleb grinned through his blushing embarrassment as she pushed him away and began to tear into Irma like a bear on a cackling salmon. A pair of frog socks twitched in the corner as their owner laughed, but as the one person whom Caleb would willingly spend an eternity trapped in a cell for continued frying her catch for a moment, just a moment, those frogs were just a dream.

* * *

 **For the lily reference - white lilies mean purity, innocence, and so on. But lilies are also often used as funeral flowers and so associated with death.**

 **This was partly for a request for AliceInNeverland95 (and a little for ZikkiLightwoodShadowhunters, although I'll be filling in the other part of your request in a later chapter combined with another idea of mine) for Caleb and Cornelia to talk about his PTSD (which I worked in with an idea I already had). In any case, I hope I lived up to your expectations. I also hope that Cornelia wasn't out of character or anything when she talked to Caleb about PTSD (in my head she researched it up considering what she knows/suspects/has** **heard).**

 **I also wanted to point out, if it wasn't clear, that Caleb is still nowhere near ready to deal with his own issues as he should and despite talking to Cornelia about it, it is only because it is her that he talks. Which will help, but not much given she's doesn't really have the experience or knowledge to deal with his issues properly. But don't worry, she's good for him nevertheless which I hope to showcase to a greater extent later on. ;)** **As also mentioned, there was more to Corenlia's dreams than Caleb leaving her for a frog. But she didn't tell him for both herself and him. In any case, I hope that you enjoyed the moment.**

 **The next chapter will be based off another prompt. The chapter after that will focus more on Julian and Caleb, and also Hay Lin (Cornelia and the others will appear too). The one after that is Cornelia and Caleb all the way, with an appearance of Blunk too. After that, I need some suggestions to fill out the bit before the next chapter I have planned (or even for future chapters after that).**

 **Sorry again for the length it took to update this; I'm going to see if I can get a chapter out every week (or other week depending on what I have on and how my other writing goes) now that I have a lot of free time on my hands.**

 **In any case, I hope that you enjoyed reading this chapter and would love it if you could take the time to review. It would be much appreciated.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

* * *

His hands were shaking where the drifting dirt in the air came to rest atop them. Caleb carefully clenched them making sure his nails did not dig in too hard. He did not need to have his hands bandaged once more, to make his father worry even more, to give the man another reason to start a discussion that Caleb really did not want to have…

It helped, he found, if he focused on the sweat building up beneath his gloves, the unpleasant feeling of perspiration driving his fingers to drift just atop his palms.

It helped less if he thought about the dirt and rock above him and below him and around him sealing off every possible exit. It helped _far_ less when he thought about that.

 _Danger! Danger! Danger!_

Instead of being unneeded and thus unheeded – or as unheeded as Caleb could manage, which was not very unheeded at all – this time the warning bells in the ex-rebel's head had come a second too late. The shaking of the cave had commenced and proceeded to a level of unstoppable destructive violence before Caleb's mind had even registered the six lettered word. And now that persistent voice in his head would not shut up.

 _Danger! Danger! Danger!_

The young commander groaned and refrained from digging his face further into the floor. It helped if he focused on the coolness of the rock around him, an echo of the same coolness that a certain flower bore, and nothing else.

"Caleb? Are you all right?"

Elyon's breathless voice had him shift upright as fast as he was able in the space so recently made so cramped. Quick and light breaths came through his nose, near panicking but not quiet, rather stemming from that adrenaline filled place where veterans who had seen too much of war instinctively fled to when called to fight again.

 _Idiot,_ he berated himself having forgotten, in the moments where the dust finally settled and his head had ceased its unnatural ringing, that he had laid himself flat atop his young Queen. That thought sent the boy up the rest of the way without heed to what lay above him.

"Ouch!"

"Caleb?"

"Be careful when you get up," the young commander said as he rubbed his head, tentatively attempting a second time to kneel whilst remembering to simultaneously duck.

A low roof, which meant a small space. Not good.

"Are you hurt?" were the next words out of his mouth as the ex-rebel looked around in the dark gloom, trying to see their temporary prison. It had to be temporary. If it was not…

Caleb felt that Elyon was far too young to see her grave.

 _Danger! Danger! Danger!_

"I… I don't think so…"

There was shifting below him as the girl answered and Caleb awkwardly shuffled himself further back on his hands and knees to allow her more freedom. He felt the heels of his boots hit something solid all too soon. The seventeen year old swallowed dryly, almost chocking on the dirt that had found its way into his mouth. It was a good sign, he told himself, that a few tendrils of light were trailing in from somewhere above them.

"Can you sit up?"

"Yes," Elyon replied.

"Be sure to watch your-" His words cut off almost petulantly as the girl lifted herself into a seated position with far more caution than he had and far less need to fear the roof of the space around them than he did.

"What…happened?" the young Heart of Meridian asked. "I remember rocks falling and using my powers to keep us from being crushed…"

"I think the cave collapsed," Caleb said.

 _Danger! Danger! Danger!_

The boy squinted through poorly lit gloom to see the girl's face. There was something streaked across her face, but whether it was dirt or blood he could not tell. It did not appear to glisten dully like blood did, but perhaps that was merely because there was not enough light for it to do so. Similarly, the winces that he could see could be a sign of a bad break or merely a result of having Caleb's full weight suddenly thrown atop of her.

"Are you sure that you're not injured?"

Elyon nodded into the gloom. "What about you?"

For a moment, Caleb allowed his attention to refocus back on himself. His muscles ached – no doubt they would ache a lot worse later, _if_ they got out of this – and although he seemed to have a few nicks from stray chips, his Queen's powers seemed to have done their work. Now if he could just get his damn hands to stop shaking…

"No." The answer was short but certain.

Silence fell between the two as they looked around the space, taking in the situation that had literally fallen on them from above. There was enough room for the two to sit – Caleb needing to crane his neck and hunch his shoulders in an distinctly uncomfortable manner – with a few hand lengths between them. The width of the space was worse, barely space for a good deep breath on either side of Caleb's shoulders. All in all it amounted to just enough room for the taller of the two to lay flat whilst keeping both his head and feet intact.

The young commander drew in a shaky breath. _This is alright. This is alright. We can work with this._

Usually it did not take so long for him to gather his wits.

Tilting his head up, Caleb did not know whether to laugh or cry at the few small spots of blue he saw against a whole lot grey and brown and black. He did neither, instead opting to shift to a more comfortable position in which he, like Elyon, was seated on the ground.

"At least we won't suffocate," he said, perhaps a bit too bluntly. "But those holes are nowhere near large enough for you to get out of let alone me."

The murky darkness of the space meant that the boy did not notice his charge's whitening face nor the tense line her lips had pressed into. As it was, another scenario had decided to make itself present in his head tainting the present with the past.

The ex-rebel remembered the last cave in he had been in – Phobos' attack on the Infinite City where they had been betting everything, their lives, Meridian, the world, _everything_ on the petty former Tyrant going back on his word, a bet that had paid off right up until Cedric's appetite grew to more than just cooked meat. Caleb remembered that man-made cave in well. He had ended up on his knees, in chains, in a cell, trapped as he waited, waited…

 _"Take care of them permanently."_

The former rebel leader looked around once more at the small pocket amongst the fallen rocks that his Queen had carved out for them. To him the rocks seemed more like bars than stone. He shivered subtly.

 _Danger!_

He did not like the feeling of being imprisoned against his will.

And he was seriously starting to regret agreeing to show Meridian's Heart several of the caves near the palace that the Rebels had first used as a hideaway before stumbling upon the Infinite City.

Caleb exhaled shakily. At the very least Drake and Elyon's adoptive parents knew where they were should they fail to return by the set time. Unfortunately for them, the cave in had occurred when he was offering a tour of the first cave which meant that, unless the no doubt spectacular collapse had been seen, such help would not be received for a while.

"How are we going to get out of here?"

The small voice in which the question have been asked was what pulled Caleb from his head. It was not the strong voice of the Queen he had come to know. Rather, it was a voice of scared little girl doing her best – and failing – to be brave.

"We could try shouting for help, but I doubt anyone is around. The easiest way would be for you to use your powers like you did to save us." The seventeen year old shot his charge a look. "Thank you for that, by the way."

Elyon did not acknowledge his last words, rather pressing up against the rock behind her and looking around the space that trapped them.

"How do I use my powers?" she asked. "For all we know it could still be unstable. If I move the wrong rock it could all come down on us!"

"Blast them away all at once."

"No! What if I misjudge and they squash us instead?"

"Alright. Alright…" Caleb wracked his brains, drawing on every scrap of planning and strategy he had used in the Rebellion and the fight against… _her_. It helped that he was in the element whose Guardian made him feel the safest, had saved him time and time again with her powers and ingenuity. "What if you made a tunnel and dug us out?"

He heard more than saw Elyon take a ragged breath, a very ragged breath that was right on the cusp of something far more wet. In the murky light the seventeen year old caught her shaky nod.

"Okay. I can try."

Caleb did not remark on the shakiness of his voice for the same reason he did not remark on the shakiness of his own hands. It would do neither of them good should he do so. So he simply sat and waited as his Queen pressed her hands to the ground, waited for the sound of shifting rock to start and the ground to slowly move beneath him.

The almost-man waited as second after second passed by, each filled with the pounding of his heart should this fail, should it not be worked and they be trapped beneath the rock without escape forever. Even as nothing happened, he waited.

"I can't," the Heart of Meridian finally breathed after an even longer while.

"Elyon?"

"I can't. I _can't._ Caleb, I _can't_ use my power! _"_

Her words sent a chill through the young commander. If he had not been certain that they would be trapped more than temporarily here before…

 _There has to be a way out._ He clenched his hands, then unclenched them and stuck them in his hair. _Dammit! We can't be trapped in here. I refuse to be trapped in here!_

Caleb inhaled sharply. He clenched his shaking hands tighter, the pain barely managing to draw him out without puncturing the skin. Him panicking alongside his Queen would not help.

"Try focusing. She says it helps a lot when she tries to move earth," he suggested.

Elyon took a very audible and shaky breath. A moment passed and then another. To the sinking feeling in Caleb's gut, the only change he could detect in the space that had become their prison was the rapid increase in his Queen's breathing and the swifter pounding of his own heart.

"I told you I can't. My powers are gone!"

"Maybe if you-"

"NO, I CAN'T!"

Blue sparks flew from Elyon as she slammed her hands on the ground. Caleb flinched violently back – _Danger! Danger!_ – acutely aware of the lack of escape the rock against his back presented him – _Danger!_ – and how similar the moment had been to another situation.

 _"Then I'll destroy you!"_

A bitter smile ghosted across the youth's face. He had longed for a mother growing up and he had gotten one. He had gotten- His mind chocked on the thought, deny it life. _She_ was everything a mother was not. _She_ had tried to kill him, to kill his friends, to kill all those he cared about to achieve a delusional dream. _She_ was a murderer, had killed her own team mate, friend, possibly even something more than a friend. That she was-

He could not, even after all this time he could not so much as give a sidelong passing glance at the thought.

The former rebel leader started again as Elyon gasped, having caught his extreme reaction from the corner of her eye.

"Oh my- Caleb, I'm sorry!" her hands flew to her mouth as if to stifle a sob. Caleb half suspected that they would have to in the next few moments. "I didn't mean to- What am I saying? I'm sorry! I won't- I didn't- I wouldn't- I'm sorry…"

Now the girl truly loosed a sob, loosing the last semblance of control she had. It was a disturbing reminder to Caleb that he was not the only one who had an issue with being trapped in place against his will, that he was no where near the one with the biggest fear, and, to top it off, his inability to reign in his instinctive reactions had made matters worse.

He supposed to be _protecting_ his Queen, not inadvertently reducing her to a panicked mess.

"I don't want to be trapped in here. I can't be trapped in here! I can't be! I don't want to be…" came the sobbing from across him. "I can't be trapped again. Not again. I don't want to be powerless again."

Trying to regain control of himself – clasping his hands together did not help stop their shaking either – Caleb drew in slightly ragged breath after slightly ragged breath. Elyon's audible desperation as she continued to mutter to herself did not help the process, only serving to further set the ex-rebel on edge.

 _Why am I so distracted? Focus, dammit! I need to focus._

Perhaps a rock had collided with his head during the collapse after all or perhaps he had hit his head harder than he had thought when attempting to get up the first time.

 _Focus!_ The former rebel leader drew in a steadier breath. _Alright. What is the exact situation I'm in?_

That was an easy question for the alarms still screaming in the back of his head to answer. He was trapped in a very small space with little light, no supplies and no means for escape, a long while and a longer shot away from anyone realising that something was wrong whilst Elyon had not only broken down but seemingly had lost control of her volatile powers. And he had _no_ escape.

 _"Try again. Focus on what you need and nothing else."_

This time the words sounded like Drake had when Caleb had been sent on his first mission with just the two of them – the final step before his first solo assignment for the Rebels. They had come across more trouble than either had anticipated, surrounded by Phobos' cruel soldiers and unable to make a sound because of it whilst both had been injured from a particularly nasty slide off a cliff. They had been amongst Drake's last words to the boy before he had unhelpfully but unavoidably lost consciousness leaving said boy to keep them alive alone for the next half a day. But unlike his consciousness, the young man's words had stuck around for Caleb's use.

 _Focus on what you need._

If this was a battle, if it were the clash of swords around him rather than rock and dirt, if his own sword were in his hand and his blood was thrumming from the very feat of staying alive, than it would be easier. There his primary need was to survive, to confront the enemy and defeat them, to lead those under his charge to victory and, if not victory, safety. In the heat of battle those were easy answers.

But here there were no such easy answers. Here there was no sword, no battle, only rock above and below and all around, trapping him and Elyon with no possible means of….

 _What do you need?_

 _To get out._ The answer was as simple as they came. _To get Elyon out._ Another simple and more potent answer than the first. It was one that Caleb could cling to more firmly, that he could use to push the strange and disconcerting haze in his mind to the back where he could forget or at least deny its existence. Glancing at the girl in question, the young commander knew what he needed.

 _"Once you know what you need, figure out how to achieve it. Control the situation."_

The boy pressed up against the rock at his back when he felt fabricated lightening crackle through the air around Elyon again. _Danger!_ He needed to calm her down before she zapped him or herself or caused the rocks to tumble down atop them. Yet, how could he calm her down when his own heart was set a-pounding at every tiny hint of her emotion driven power?

 _Focus on what you need._

Power…

 _It couldn't be,_ Caleb thought, _could it?_

But he had seen it with his own eyes; the Heart of Meridian had power even if she could not control it. Caleb rubbed a trembling hand down his face. Now he really needed to calm down his Queen.

"Elyon. Elyon! Elyon, focus on me." He wondered if this was how his father had felt weeks ago when he had been- And what need was there to reflect on something that had already occurred and ended up fine? None. "Come on, Elyon. Listen to me."

Caleb would have reached a hand out had he not been sure that the damn trembling of said hands – something that could be interpreted as fear – would worsen the situation. The girl trapped with him did not need to know her personal guard was afraid to die. So instead he nudged her foot with his.

And now to force out those words that accompanied a shallow tongue dipped in black humour.

 _Danger!_

It was far easier to break the silence ingrained inside of him when he was filled with righteous anger.

 _Control the situation._

"At least we're not trapped in here with Blunk. There's almost no ventilation whatsoever. We'd suffocate from the smell."

And perhaps it was not the best thing to say to a scared little girl, but it did the job in ending her panicking tirade and focusing her attention on him.

Caleb forced himself to grin a little wider through the gloom. "Or Drake could be in her with us and attempting to practice the lute."

She was still sobbing, but they were growing quieter. He hoped they were in any case. At the very least the crackling of power around the girl had ceased. _That_ in turn allowed the former rebel to breath easier.

"Or, even worse, Irma. I almost burnt down her house trying to make toast the last time I visited Earth. This would be a perfect chance for her to get revenge on me," he tried again.

"Or a certain Earth Guardian could be in here with us."

As much as those timid, but trying words dug their nails into his heart, Elyon was distracted from her break down. Caleb forced himself to give a short laugh.

"I could imagine. She would be complaining about her hair."

"I know. 'Oh, I just had a manicure and now it's ruined, and don't get me started on my shoes!'" Meridian's Queen said in what Caleb thought was a poor impression of his beautiful flower.

"How about this? 'Why is it always me who gets covered in muck? It's not fair. I work harder than all of you to make sure I look good.'"

And Caleb really hoped that his beautiful flower could not speak to rocks like she could to plants. He would have to get Elyon out of here first, though.

 _Focus on what you need._

The last of Elyon's pitiful laughter died on the rocks around them. If anything, the space seemed to get smaller as the air was somehow sucked from the place.

"This place is so small," the girl breathed, fresh tears leaking from her eyes. "And we're trapped here and my powers have all but disappeared-"

"Actually, I have a theory about that," Caleb broke in. "I think they are not working properly because you are freaking out. If you calmed down and focused, I think you could control them again."

He was such a hypocrite for one who could not even get his own hands to stop shaking, but Elyon did not need to know that.

"But I'm scared, Caleb," his young charge cried. "I'm really, really scared. What if we are trapped here forever? What if we're trapped here and this was set up by someone to catch us and they come back? Without my powers I'm useless. What if they come back? Or what if they leave us here to die?"

 _Control the situation._

"I'm sure it was an accident," Caleb said. "I would have noticed if anyone followed us or had been present before the cave-in."

Still, that did not rule out the option, one that the young commander had – surprisingly – until the girl before him had mentioned it. It seemed that the strange haze muddling his thoughts, dulling his instincts whilst simultaneously making them hyper-aware had floated in from where he had last pushed it. But the whys regarding the collapse of the cave could wait until later, when he could taste freedom on his lips once more.

 _Focus on what you need._

"But what if-"

"Try and think of something else," the ex-rebel suggested. At Elyon's still terrified face he tried again. "Ask me a question."

"Are we going to die here?"

"Ask me another question."

"Okay." She sniffed. "Why has your father been angry at you for the past few weeks?"

That question was not much better to the seventeen year old boy.

"Because we disagreed on something," Caleb answered.

 _There has to be a way out of here without Elyon's power…_

"And you haven't made up yet?"

The question was as naïve as it was filled with genuine surprise. Whatever Elyon had been through, it had not been enough to completely smash that childish streak that Caleb had lost o so long ago.

"No," the former rebel leader bit out. "He still hasn't accepted my side of the argument."

If their little damning refuge had not been so gloomy and Meridian's Heart not so scared, Caleb would have sworn she raised an eyebrow at him just as her best friend always did at such comments.

"And your side is right because…?"

 _Because his can't be!_ The almost eighteen year old refused to let free such a desperate cry, to make himself more vulnerable than he already was trapped without a way to escape, at the mercy of the rocks around them. So he answered differently. "My reasoning is better."

The lie was foul tasting in both his mouth and heart, but he said it anyway, believed it anyway. He _had_ to.

 _He can't be right._

Maybe if his hands would cease the slight tremours still racking them, he could almost believe that the lie was the truth.

"What did you disagree on?"

And once again Caleb was reminded that he was not the only one who was having difficulty convincing themselves that everything would be fine.

"The definition of some words," the boy put simply.

Elyon sniffed. "That seems kind of…petty."

"They're very important words." At least that much he and his father could agree on.

The young Queen trapped with him seemed to pick up on that fact as well. The solemner tone of her voice when she next spoke gave it away. Yet, Caleb suspected that it was too frayed nerves rather than any true understanding that gave birth to her question.

"Do you think you'll make up with him?"

 _Do you think that we will get out of here?_

Reading between the layers of deception put on by others to determine their true thoughts was a skill that the ex-rebel leader had found come in useful time and time again.

"Yes." There was no other answer that he could give to the girl, so Caleb said it with every amount of certainty he could rip from his body.

Elyon, for better or worse, seemed to believe him.

 _Focus on what you need._

"Do you think you could try with your powers again?" the young commander asked. "Maybe just move a small rock?"

The Heart of Meridian nodded.

The space grew silent with the scarcity of breath as Elyon focused on a small pebble before her. A moment later and it rose to hover a few lengths off the ground.

"Yes!" she cried almost hysterically as Caleb grinned at the sight. "I think maybe if I focus on blasting the rocks outwards…"

The girl gave no time for the older boy across from her to answer as the air around her began to glow with power once more, this time more controlled than the bursts from before, albeit barely. Caleb swallowed inconspicuously.

He then frowned as something other than the terrifying power before him made itself known to his senses. Straining his ears, the former rebel picked up the sounds of muffled shouting.

"Wait! I think-"

The words were a breath too late as Elyon blasted the rocks above them clear. Blue sky appeared above them and, with a deep inhalation of the fresher, freer air, Caleb finally straightened his back. Stretching, he grinned in five parts relief and six parts amusement at where Drake and the others who had joined the 'rescue' party had gracelessly thrown themselves to the ground.

"Alright there?" the young commander called out, more than one part of his tone well disguised concern.

"Shouldn't we be asking you that?" Drake yelled back.

From the corner of his eye Caleb saw Elyon hastily stand and make her was out of the collapsed cave. Caleb too stood, waving a finally non-trembling hand – when the shaking had ceased exactly he did not know – briefly at the others as they climbed back to their own feet. The seventeen year old then turned to help his Queen down the rocks as much as her rushed movements would allow.

"Mum! Dad!" the girl cried once she was free of the rock pile.

The two adults reeled back from the force of her unexpected weight, Drake and – Caleb grit his teeth and fought down the traitorous wave of relief he felt at seeing the man – his father walking towards him from behind them.

"Are-"

The former rebel leader cut off that serious voice he would rather not hear. "The cave collapsed. There were tremours but the roof caved in before we could get out. Elyon kept us from being squashed. I don't think it was anything more than an accident, but-"

"You are not sure."

"No."

The tartness of Caleb's words made Drake wince and redirect his feet to overshoot where the uncomfortable stand off was occurring. It was to the area around the cave that had collapsed to which the blonde man retreated, still keeping an ear

"How did you know there was trouble?"

Julian exhaled hard. It was not 'we were in trouble'. No. His son would not admit such a thing that would contradict his longstanding and completely false claim.

"Drake felt like something was off," was the bearded man's reply.

He did not need to give more than that. Any former rebel knew that when Drake felt that something was off, something was likely off. One did not become a part of the Rebel movement without developing almost supernatural instincts to detect trouble and a keen eye for whose instincts were the sharpest.

As Meridian's young Heart was fussed over by her adoptive parents and Drake poked at one exploded rock that had fallen several lengths short of his head, father and son stood apart like a pair of atoms reluctant to bond.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine."

Two jaws tightened as father and son stared each other down. This would not be the day where either would give nor would it be the moment when a truce, however temporary, was called on their argument.

"We should get back to the palace," Caleb finally said, calling out to where the Browns were still comforting their Queen and daughter.

"You are not finishing your shift as her guard," Julian murmured just loud enough for his son to hear. "Aldarn or Drake can take over."

The man received no verbal reply, but then he had expected none. He simply watched as his son began to walk away to where the Browns were making their own journey back to the place they called home.

Julian felt a hand descend on his shoulder.

"He'll come round. Eventually," Drake said in sympathy.

The father he had been comforting merely shifted in frustrated despair. To Julian, eventually was not soon enough.

* * *

 **This one is a response to a request from** **Wondertown9 for me to play with Elyon and her having PTSD from her own imprisonment and experience of betrayal. I decided to lean more on the imprisonment part - both with her being bound to a throne and then trapped in a jewel for months. The betrayal aspect I might focus on later if I get (or get a suggestion for) an idea of a story to work it with.**

 **About Elyon's fear and experience of PTSD here: PTSD can also be linked with/see the development of phobias. Linking to Elyon's negative experiences of being trapped, I decided (after some research to find out what the specific phobia was) to go with her having strong cleithrophobia (fear of being trapped) which could possibly be mixed in with a little claustrophobia (fear of small, enclosed spaces). Thus she reacts negatively to being trapped in the cave due to the cave in, very negatively due to her strong phobia. This, I thought, would affect her powers meaning that she couldn't a) control them and b) therefore use them properly; instead they would come out as bursts and so on until she regained a cooler head (and I could be wrong about this and her power usage, but it works for this story so forgive me ;) The fact that both times she was trapped without escape she was stripped of her power - and I've made her unable to use her power properly here - would also compound her fear, with the idea that being trapped = no power = her being unable to defend herself. Note that her deep fear and desire to escape would have meant that where she moved the rocks at the end, it was in a very uncontrolled manner (I'm imagining a bit like an small explosion, but not as volatile and obviously no heat or anything).**

 **Now, I also think Caleb would have cleithrophobia as well, but to a somewhat lesser degree than Elyon (I've given him some other stronger phobias that I'll explore later; in any case, one in particular fuels this one which I'll delve into later; it kind of underpins most of his negative reactions really and worsens the others...). This is coming from the fact that most of the time when he was trapped he was about to be a) captured or b) killed or c) captured then imprisoned and/or killed. Whatever the case, he would be very anti any situation from which he could not escape, especially if it was a dangerous one. This fact and phobia would be compounded from his training and experience as a rebel in which they would have avoided being trapped (as = captured and or death sentence) at all costs.**

 **In essence, for both Elyon and Caleb being trapped = bad things. And thus their phobia.**

 **Overall, I'm not too happy with the quality of this and it turned out to be more difficult than I thought to write Elyon's panic attack from the perspective of Caleb who was only a few mental leaps away from going down the same path (not something I really want to try again...). Also, please forgive me for any inconstancies or unrealistic scenarios with the cave/cave in - I tried my best, but again this was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write. In any case, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter regardless (on another, Julian and Caleb's spat will be partially fixed next chapter, which is why this ends the way it does. It may take a while getting up though). I would greatly appreciate it if you would take the time to review and leave your thoughts on this chapter and story as a while.**

 **Also, if you have any suggestions for situations regarding this series they would like to see feel free to PM me or leave a review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **Hey! It's Christmas. The time for cheer and happiness and not killing authors who update really, really late right? Haha... Please don't kill me.**

 **Seriously though, sorry for the long update. I've started another (recent) series for another fandom that's enthralled me, plus I just got a job and really need to start my own fiction writing (like really, really). Also I had a bit of trouble kickstarting my muses for this particular chapter... -_- Then, when I finally got it, the weekend previous was a massive one for an early Christmas gathering of family at our house (so no writing) followed by ongoing preparations for the other side of my family to come over here on Christmas. And yes, a bit of procrastination too. ;) If it makes you feel any better, this has been my writing priority over the past few days. Like HIGH on it. So, without further ado (Ive delayed long enough), please enjoy.**

* * *

Hay Lin's cheer was most definitely out of place as she moved along the palace corridors. Her light skips had ceased as the solemn mood of those around her formed what seemed like iron chains around her ankles. Even the dabs of yellow and orange paint on her skin had dulled in their brightness at the heavy implications that hung in Meridian's air.

 _"A fight broke out near the Eastern villages. Some group that wants to overthrow the Queen."_

Despite her lack of Guardian attire, Hay Lin's powers were still adequate enough to hear the talk of two guards as they passed through the palace doors from her quiet place near the foot of the Elyon's magnificent garden.

 _"The fighting's bad; seven men have already returned wounded."_

 _"Wouldn't be surprised if some returned dead."_

It was, perhaps, the single one of her powers that she regretted the most when she overheard things that were better left unheard (although that regret never lasted long when said power helped to achieve their goal and save lives).

 _"Whose leading the fight?"_

Even now that damning conversation bounced around in her head like the creative air had bounced around in it not several minutes ago. Round and round, again and again, one single word standing out amongst the rest.

 _"Caleb."_

O, there were other names too, Drake and a few that Hay Lin did not recognise, but these paled in comparison to her close friend's. Even more so given that where Caleb went Blunk was sure to follow.

The only reason why the Air Guardian had not been crippled by sheer worry was that her optimism had quickly leapt to her defence. The pair in danger had survived through everything they had been confronted with before – tyrants and sorceresses and monsters that made nightmares seem like sweet little dreams. No doubt they could survive a fight between them and a group of unruly Meridian citizens. At the very least Caleb's improvised thinking and Blunk's survival instincts would keep the two alive.

The weight of the bag at her side was as comforting as any hug. The clink of paint jars and brushes even more so. They called to her, pulled at the spool thread within that so easily unraveled into Pleasure Domes and singing Abyssinian maids. It was a siren's addictive melody that spoke of the pleasure a brush and paint could bring, had been bringing to the last uncovered spots of a canvas when worrying words had been overheard.

It was a call that Hay Lin could not give in to as she continued rushing down the hallways and through rooms upon extravagant rooms. Yet she wished to give in to it, with the anxiety coursing though her body she wished that she could thread a needle through that spool of thread once more.

Perhaps she would once she had reached her destination.

 _Caleb…_

The Chinese descendent glanced out of one of the exquisite windows that hung on the surrounding stone walls, a painted expanse deceptively peaceful and yet honestly beautiful in all the flaws it highlighted of what was likely a remote region in Meridian. The landscape rolled on and on, forever on like the halls that she had been running through. It was simple, dotted by trees and that sense of liberty that any particle of gas felt at the sight of an endless and unroofed horizon as easily as naked feet could frolic across patchy and undisturbed turf.

The perfect picture of a world devoid of war and fighting.

 _"…if some returned dead…"_

Hay Lin's eyes darted to the front once more, her pace never suffering the disease that struck the distracted hare in its race against a far slower foe. That was the benefit of the wind, able to capture everything in its vision even as it blew the world by at speeds greater than any blinking eye. The girl only wished that she could so quickly blow by the thoughts in her head.

Her feet continued pounding (curiously lightly) against the ground. The jars in her bag continued their clinking by her side. Her lips had by now parted in exertion. Her breaths were a dash away from becoming ragged gasps. Her ears strained through the noise in the air around her. She was almost there, almost within proximity of the one she had been pursuing.

 _Caleb…_

Slowing her rapid pace, the Guardian of Air glided through the entrance hall into one of the side rooms that lined it offering privacy to those bidding farewell to more than sweethearts or anxiously waiting the return of said more-than-sweethearts hoping for their crown to still be firmly atop their firmly attached head. Now it was being used by a father who bore no crown at all, who had refused the crown offered to him all those months ago.

A slave bore no crown and neither did a rebel. Both knew that all too often that the power of crowns drove sane men into fools and children to grow up too fast in a place too devoid of peace.

Hay Lin set her bag down next to the man sitting on the ground, swiftly following the motion with her own folding legs. Julian turned his head to nod at her in greeting.

"Did you finish what it was that you were working on?" he asked.

The girl beside him sent a cheery smile, surprisingly genuine for all that she had overheard, for all that she had been through. Ever the optimist, the true power behind her given powers, the one thing that had carried her through the bad times where they would have dragged any lesser soul of cheer down – the Guardian of Air was as impossible to crush as the element she controlled.

That, she felt, was the true strength of air. Force the energetic molecules into any room, any container, any restrictive situation and they would adjust and fit themselves to the area given. Take them out and they would revert back to cover as much space as possible. Such was the case with truly free spirits.

"Yes," Hay Lin gushed in answer to the question posed. "The scenery was brilliant! It was like a fire I almost used up all of my red and orange paints though. I also got paint everywhere; I hope the gardeners wont mind that I spilt some paint on the grass. I did try to be careful."

Each near rambling word was said with such liveliness that it was infectious, a small virus that tweaked an otherwise grim man's lips. It was quickly killed, however, as the plague of anxiety at recent events within Meridian overpowered the brief cheer.

"I take it you heard then."

 _"Whose leading the fight?"_

 _"Caleb."_

 _And Blunk._ It was always Caleb _and_ Blunk; never one without the other where there was danger to be had.

Unconsciously hands began to pull brushes and jars from her bag. A small pot of water was opened, an object dipping in then resurfacing like the elegant toes of Aphrodite as she walked across the foam. The object was guided across the curved rims of splattered containers one by one, coming to hover over a lake as formidable to an artist as a sword was to a soldier. It considered, plunged, emerged. Then, its previous state of nakedness now properly removed, it began a dance much like that of clouds gathering across the sky's blank canvas.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Hay Lin said. And, o, there were so many insecurities in that single ending word. Yet, simultaneously, there was just as much unshakable faith.

Said faith, however, was far more shakable in fathers who could do naught but worry and imagine the worst.

"I hope that is the case. Until they return, any news about the fight will be long coming."

Julian's words merged with the coolness of paint upon Hay Lin's arm, becoming entwined in the first downward stroke she had made along the tender flesh from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. The line curved down like the words just uttered, ending in the same sharp and anxious jerk.

The artist considered the next stroke she would make.

"Blunk is with him," the girl said. "They'll watch out for each other like they always do."

Her words flowed as easily and lightly as the next brushstroke across pale skin. They were simple, firm, coloured as much a bold orange as the brush Hay Lin wielded. It took guts to wear orange, she felt, whether it was in paint or clothing. Not many people she knew of did so willingly (even Will had complained of the 'too orange' shade of her red hair more than once), but there were those who had chosen to break form tradition trusting that the hue worked for them and not against. Orange was unique in that manner; a colour that was what it was and yet could transform something like night into the brilliance of day. All one had to do was trust in the bold, honest orange of things like sunrises…

The Guardian of Air trusted in Blunk and Caleb to keep each other safe despite her current worries that such safety would not be achieved. She trusted that her brushes would breath life into the otherwise ineffable images in her head. She trusted in bold, vibrant, _transformative_ orange to change bad into good.

It was easier than being sucked into a wormhole made up of her own anxieties.

 _If some returned dead…_

"Why are you sitting here?" Hay Lin asked out of a deliberately distracted curiosity, her brush once more curling across her arm.

The man beside her took a while to answer. By the time he did, the girl had already cleaned her brush and allowed its bristles to take up the last of her red in defiance of the desolate void that wanted her mind.

"As of yet there is no need for more men," Julian said. "There are no current meetings either and I needed the air."

Hay Lin said nothing to this for there was nothing to be said. As much as she liked to talk, she also knew when silence was more adequate a response. So the Air Guardian simply stroked her brush across her skin canvas, blending it with the vibrant hue already there.

The image from her mind was beginning to come into focus upon her skin: the hint of a looped tail joined to a serpent-like body, the crude blocks of a horned and bearded head. Already the majesty the Ancient Chinese had revered in the mighty fortune bringing beast had spilled over the other side of her forearm. The red of its claws grasped at her wrist as though intending to bleed its coloured luck into her veins.

"I am glad that we have not yet had need of you and your fellow Guardians or the Queen," Julian broke honestly into the quiet air.

If rough bristles were bent slightly by the next rough dab of paint spread along her arm, Hay Lin grimaced only a little. The thought that the fighting she had heard if could only be quelled by powers beyond what any normal person had – it was not a pleasant thought to think in the slightest for what it would mean of both of her friends.

A brush dipped back into a jar of red, scrapping along the sides to pull the remaining dregs of luck free from the ceramic edges so it could join the rudimentary painting upon her skin canvas.

"What was Caleb like as a child?" the Guardian of the most non-crushable element asked. "I bet he was cute. Did he get into a lot of trouble? Only Irma's little brother gets into trouble all the time. What about strange habits? I'm sure Irma would love to hear about those, although I won't tell her. You can always trust me to keep a secret."

Perhaps the direction of conversation went against the echoing ghouls that wanted to form in her head. Perhaps it went, in the eyes of those less buoyant than air, against the direction of the entire situation. But the girl had, after all, left her place of inspiration in the palace gardens for more than just to be comforted by company whilst she awaited the return of her friends or news of such return, whichever came first. She had sought out the father of one of her friends for more than to share their worries.

"What was it like when he was born?" she continued. "What was he like? Did he get into things? Did he ever have a pet of some sort?"

And if the questions she posed fulfilled her own desire to know about her friend's childhood that she did not know all that much about (she doubted that any of them who were not from Meridian truly knew, not even the one who had fast become the blossom of said friend's life) then it was an added bonus. Hay Lin was not stupid. She did not expect a fairytale to emerge from what had been the belly of a nightmare, yet just as her trust in orange and friends was unshakable, so too was her trust that amongst the bad there had been some good for father and son alike.

A small glance left from where a paintbrush twirled showed that Julian had reverted in on himself at the torrent of questions, a normal reversion into sweet recollections made bitter for the reality they were steeped in. The man himself had caught his descent, knew what the girl was doing, she was aiming for, but had decided that for once the past was a better place to focus on than the now.

"He was troublesome," the father admitted. "At least in his first few years of life. He was always drawn to things like fire and the pots that sat atop it. When he was barely two Caleb got stuck up the oak tree in the village center. He had only climbed a few branches – I do not know how he even managed that; he had just started walking – but he could not get down by himself."

It had been a windy day too the man remembered. Certainly windy enough to surely entrench the first batch of worry lines upon his face as a young boy had clung to the barely swaying thick branch only several feet from the ground, but an eternity to someone so short and a father so anxious. It had not taken much for Julian to pluck the boy from the branch. It had taken even less for the man to pull him back to the safety of his chest, but his hands had been shaking nonetheless from fear of suddenly being unable to locate his only child and fear that said child would do himself some grievous injury. That night had been spent alternating between scolding Caleb and kissing his tiny forehead in relief.

The ex-rebel only wished that he could kiss his son so easily now.

"He was shy even then," Julian continued. _Even before everything happened…_

"Really?"

The girl's innocent and pleased surprise filled the air. Yet, Hay Lin could easily envision the brown haired former rebel leader being as bashful when he was younger as when he had first been courting around courting the flower of his life. When it came down to it, Caleb was just as flappable as the girl he loved and just as good (and sometimes downright bad) at masking his flappable nature. Still, no matter how good the mask, Hay Lin could always see the truth. It most typically was in the colours that painted their faces, the slightly pinked cheeks or pale faces or ears as red as the ending of the tail that swept into the crook of her elbow.

By now, the Guardian of Air had changed to a tool with finer, softer bristles. It twirled as it drew itself resolutely through whiteness. It then swirled in short, light motions across a more animated expanse that's paleness had already been reduced by colour. Each touch was like the lingering sensation of Eric's rare chaste kisses upon her cheek, or her own on his, a brush of something that was once there but there no longer, a memory, and, in that moment, it was not the only memory to be had.

"Yes, Caleb was shy and still is despite what he tells you," Julian said with an almost smile. Almost for a good reason. "He always hid behind my legs when he met new people, unless they were other children. Then he would walk up and greet them with complete confidence in himself and his ability to make friends. That confidence has served him well over the years…"

The fine brush tickled, almost like a lone feather reduced to tears for the liquid trail it left behind. The man beside her did not cry, however. Whether it was strength or denial or an unwillingness to insult the flame of hope still burning, he did not cry in a manner that the external world could see.

"He was a late speaker, though," Julian continued, forcing his focus on the past once more.

"What was his first word?"

It was an innocently curious question that no parent forgot the answer to, especially not in a world where the next batch of laboriously strung together syllables could be the last word spoken by one's child. Especially not when the answer would form the basis of nightly hauntings in a dangerous mind filled with slaves.

"Pa."

How soon had the innocent, childish term faded from his son's vocabulary as the next significant bunch of words he learned were to do with guards and swords and hiding and rebellions. How much he would give to hear the term said to him now even if it were caught up in the tangled adultness of 'father'.

"My grandmother says mine was 'kuái lè'. It means happy in Mandarin."

Julian looked at the long haired girl beside him.

"My mother says that it was 'sháo' – or spoon – though."

Hay Lin dragged the brush once more over her arm as the man she was speaking to made a sound of interest. It was a final touch to the round eye looking up at her, to the piece of body art as a whole.

The girl stared a moment at her completed work, admiring the twists and turns of a lithe body that had started as a formless smudge of orange paint on skin. Simplistic as it was, she was proud of the regal shape that had been given life if not breath. Still, she did not feel her usual urge to photograph it and add it to the collection of similar artworks in her room and those of her family's home of animals and magical beasts from the ancient realm of her ancestors. (If she had been painting more, drawing more, learning to embroider after the events of Phobos and Nerissa and Lord Cedric her parents did not know push for a reason and her grandmother merely encouraged the release. It was reassuring, she had found, to work her fears into the images of burning phoenixes, ferocious tigers and regal lions. Even more so when she knew those same images watched over her as she slept. Besides, she had painted more than enough dancing butterflies after falling for Eric adding even more to her growing collection.)

The painting spread across the length of her forearm bore one purpose and one purpose alone. Once that purpose had been fulfilled it could be washed away to leave room for a new painted equivalent of a talisman.

The fine brush was set down and the old orange and red crusted one taken back up once more by the hand a crude dragon grasped. Into the water it went, washing itself of the old colours and moving to the green of spring and evergreen needles and hope. Then that green, a darker shade that she had decided to use as a basis, stroked the virgin flesh of her paint-less arm.

The movement was shaky, the girl far less confident in creating the image in her head with her less dominate hand. The sensation of coolness covering skin was soothing though, even if it clumped a little at the start. But the artist did not mind the thickness. It was green after all, the colour that she found most soothing when the air was tenser than usual.

"Blunk will be fine. Caleb will too," Hay Lin mustered again as she briefly focused on the once more silent man beside her.

Julian gave a small sour laugh, not at all what the young Air Guardian had desired her words to conjure.

"Fine… I only wish he was as fine as he says he is," the ex-rebel and ex-slave said.

Hay Lin blinked. "He's not?"

Surely Caleb had not received some injury or fallen prey to an illness without her knowing in the weeks since the last time she had seen him. Yes, she had noticed a certain dampened spirit around her friend, a certain anxiety hovering over him even when he was smiling, even when he was with her earthly Guardian counterpart. Yet, each time she had seen him since they had vanquished Cedric (the thought of that battle, of what they had become still made her shiver) he had been whole if suffering from varying degrees of tiredness and an exhaustion on a less physical…

 _Oh._

Like that the girl of Chinese and Guardian descent realised what the man beside her had meant, why Elyon had made the request she had all those weeks ago.

 _"I think it would really cheer Caleb up if you could make it. Or at the very least make him stop working for a moment to look at it…"_

It was not that she had not known, but rather that the reason had never seen a need to make itself overtly known to the conscious part of her mind. Unconsciously it had driven her desire to splash and blend and smooth reds and oranges and purples over the top of each other atop a tantalisingly blank canvas. Her concern for her friend (and the other, infamously smellier, friend who accompanied him) had driven her to paint in the oranges and reds and greens of her ancestors, to give form to the dragons and rabbits that had their places in her cultural heritage.

Her green infused brush curved downwards from where it had been, a rough half circle ending with a straight long foot prime for all sorts of hopping.

"He will not let me help him."

And the thing about air was that it was always there, always surrounding even those who had been abandoned by everyone else, comforting them, reassuring them that at the very least they could still breath. It remained present and listening, its molecules ready to carry the smallest sound from parted lips, and what air heard it carried only so far as the nearest ear. Often, the nearest was its own and its own ear was everywhere.

There was a saying that the wind could carry the whispered secrets of the trees they brushed through across thousands and thousands of leagues. That saying was true and it was not. The wind merely carried what was upon it for as long as that thing hung on. If secrets were murmured barely a finger's breadth away, than it fell a finger's breadth away form where it was murmured. No one heard it save the air. No one forced it further on, not even the air.

So it was that Hay Lin heard Julian's murmur, but did not draw out its life. She simply bit her lip in concentration and swept two long ears of green upon her pale flesh.

Silence stretched between the two humans in that little room off the entrance hall. More battered guards like the ones Hay Lin had overheard had passed through, but none had bothered either the Guardian or the renown (former) rebel. The time was spent thinking and worrying and painting, the blank canvas of noise disturbed only by the gentle clinking of a brush upon jars.

Swath of green upon swath of forest green swept its way across a rapidly forming picture. Already the base had been set and the thin brush returned, twisting, turning, its touches a mere remembrance of what had once been where nothing now was. A whisker emerged. A nose twitched its way with the artist's hand upon green covered skin. A shade the colour grass turned when the sun shone through it was applied along vaguely furry ears and a tail.

The tip of Hay Lin's tongue was growing cold, not that the young artist noticed in the frenzy of her last home stretch. A last spot of lighter green for an eye, another thin tickling line for a final whisker and it was done.

"Would you mind if I painted on your arm?"

The question was hesitant, shy and wholly unexpected by the man beside her.

"Only I've run out of room on mine and I don't have anything else to paint on," she continued.

"Helps you to relax, does it?" Julian said with a small smile. "Not at all."

He offered one muscular (and hairy) forearm as a living slate, pushing his sleeve up that little bit further to avoid needlessly getting paint upon it. The girl beside him took the limb almost reverently in her paint stained hands.

The man almost flinched when the first paint touched him – green again. The sensation of bristles bending against his skin like reeds against the wind was peculiar but not wholly unpleasant.

"I have never been painted on before," the ex-rebel said.

Hay Lin grinned even as the tip of her tongue stuck out in rapt concentration. "I've done it plenty of times. I usually help out with the face painting for the school fair and making the banners for carnivals. I also helped Will paint a pot she made for her mother in art class."

Julian nodded in politeness. "How are your friends?"

"They're doing good. Will has been taking tutoring for maths and Taranee has been helping her with it. Will's mother and Mr. Collins have been getting along well, and Will has been warming up to the idea of her mum dating again. Irma decided that she wanted to learn martial arts, although she's been complaining about having to take her brother there as well. She and Taranee have also been helping me with a sculpting project of mine." The girl took a breath. "She misses him."

"They have something special between them," Julian smiled warmly with only a hint of broken bitterness in his eyes. But there was no jealously. He was too old for that, too caring of a child that was no long a child but no less his. For his son to have what he never did…

It did not matter if some greater power thought the two young lovers did or did not deserved it. It did not matter if the universe decided it would bring to an end what had been begun. The man, the father, the betrayed and heartbroken lover would ensure that no such ending came to an almost-man that was barely a boy for all he looked like one.

It would be Julian's greatest challenge to let the relationship run its course, for good or tragic illness, without interference.

The odd sensation of yet more paint being layered upon his skin was enough to tear the former rebel's mind from such thoughts. But it was not enough to ease the worry in a father's heart.

As much as he disliked fighting, Julian wished that he were out where the current turbulence was occurring. That they had been caught almost unawares, his son inspecting the region after reports of budding unrest and comments that were not at all conducive to the future of Queen Elyon's reign, did not bode well. It was nearly too much like an ambush (nearly too much like the ambush that had gotten him captured in the first place forcing him to break a parent's promise to a boy). At least the council that had debated the approach to this issue had the foresight to send more than just a few 'scouts'. It helped that there had already been several guards there who had volunteered to help with rebuilding the village after a particularly vicious storm the previous week. There were more than enough men present, certainly more than what the agitators had to have been expecting.

Julian sighed to himself. If he could take Caleb and wrap him in the thickets blanket and put him in a secure room and never let him go he would. _That,_ however, would not at all be conducive to their future relationship.

As it was, all the man wished to do was to sweep the arguments and fears held by both of them away and simply hold his son until tomorrow became today.

The former rebel and slave emerged from his head once more when the sensation of rough bristles turned into softer ones. Blinking, he watched as an extremely thing brush danced about the silhouette now marked out on his arm in green. In the barely felt wake of the brush trailed a soft pink, a hue that spoke of care and loyalty and innocent affection.

The girl producing the artwork swirled her brush up and down, each curved line as soft as the colour she painted them in. Then the fine brush was traded for an even finer one which was made to bath in a bolder, richer, more passionate sunset pink.

A highlight was made here and there so quick that Julian had trouble following the girl's gliding hand. A feather was produced from the top of a proud head, the glistening paint left to droop over a short pink beak. Rough lines were flecked through a green wing, the two colours contrasting each other in a tasteful way. The brush dragged down Julian's arm once more to add a fleck of rose to the figure's head then lifted from his skin a final time.

"There. Finished," the Guardian of Air proclaimed brightly.

Julian inspected the image on his arm carefully. "What is it?"

"It's a bird called a quail back on Earth," Hay Lin informed him. "In China it represents-"

Her words were cut off as her head jolted up, a frown of concentration upon her face. The that frown broke into a grin as wide as the lazy sun she had painted only that morning.

"They're back!"

The words had Julian up and moving even as Hay Lin remained to carefully place her pots and brushes away. Then she too was rushing to greet the first of the company who had so recently been fighting.

The grand doors stood ajar, albeit not fully open, allowing easy entrance into the palace for those who needed access. That access was now being used by several men who looked battered but otherwise no worse for wear. Julian nodded a hasty greeting to them as they continued on their hurried way, obvious messages for the Queen and those who else would need to hear the news they carried.

What came next would Vathek into a cursing state of perpetual flight and paranoid checks that his food was still in place. fleeing

"Blunk!"

Despite the passling's infamous smell, despite his lack of body hygiene, despite the fact he was covered by enough mud to cover the palace gardens Hay Lin threw her arms around the small figure. Her relief was tainted by worry once more, however, by the next decipherable words to mark the air.

"Where's Caleb?"

The sudden heavy silence was a sure sign of the worst to the two humans. The gasping breath that the assumedly fallen commander's friend took was even more so.

Despite being the Guardian of Air, in those brief seconds Hay Lin felt as though the air inside of her had turned to lead. Those free and vibrant and rebounding molecules had closed in on themselves, tightened together in a grief sharper than any solid object she knew and if she felt this way…

From the corner of her eye she could see Julian bent underneath a far greater weight than any friend mourning a simple friend.

And then Blunk finished inhaling.

"Caleb is behind–"

"Caleb!"

The passling would have toppled over had not Hay Lin caught him at the last moment. Blunk's sentence had devolved into a small, breathless shriek but there was no need for him to continue. It was all too clear what he had been attempting to say.

Looking up, the Guardian of Air smiled as widely and brightly as she could as though the movement of her lips were a brilliant sun rising up out of the somber night. Her other closest Meridian friend – her closest human Meridian friend – was being enveloped by his father somewhere between the palace doors and his next step through them. If the boy looked bewildered, it was nothing compared to the crushing relief upon his father's own face that morphed itself into an equally crushing hug.

In that moment Julian swore that he would never let his son go again, an oath that was completely self-indulgent and unable to be kept.

"Why do you have paint on your arm?"

The boy's bewilderment contrasted with Julian's own relief much like the contrast of green and pink. The bearded man drew away just enough to see Caleb's raised eyebrows, the man still bathing in the fatherly ecstasy of sons still being alive.

"Your friend, Hay Lin, asked if she could paint me," Julian answered nodding to where he knew the girl stood hugging a certain passling as the pair moved towards the wall, out of the way of any others who wished to enter. "It is some kind of bird called a quail."

He could see a question – or two or three – begin to form on Caleb's lips, but the formless inquiries seemed to just as quickly fade as the boy seemed to reach a conclusion that he would pursue them later. That did not matter. Julian had his own questions to ask.

"Are you hurt?" Those three words would forever be the first uttered from his lips when reunited with his duty-driven son.

"Just some bruises."

"Caleb-"

"I'm not lying! Will you not trust me to judge my own health?"

And Julian would have answered honestly, would have continued boldly advocating his stance in their increasingly longstanding argument if he was not so simply glad that he could even continue said argument with his son. Besides, anger would not solve anything. It would only make the worst feel all the more worse should it, the Heart of Meridian forbid, happen.

Their argument had to be smoothed over and he knew that Caleb was more than reluctant to make the first move, perhaps even incapable of doing so. That left Julian to move for the both of them.

The man inhaled then let go of the breath. The green and pink quail on his arm glistened a little in the light.

"If I trust you with your health, will you trust me with what bothers you?" It was more an offering of a truce than a compromise given that his son would likely not accept, but Julian hoped anyway.

That hope was crushed just a little when Caleb averted his gaze.

"I love you, son," the man said in earnest.

"I love you too." A soft answer that was no less earnest for it, an underlying tinge of remorse for past said and arguments dragged on. And a hint of something else too, something defiantly vulnerable in a weary voice.

Julian waited for his son to speak again, for the once (and still when one pushed passed his bravado and too-realistic looking leader's mask) shy boy to gather his thoughts and release them into the air's careful care. In that time he looked his son over with a more scrutinising eye. What he saw was the face of a man that bore shadows too much like the ones cast over his own bearded mug.

The fighting had been rough, at least from the looks of the two messengers who had come in before, Blunk and his own son. Dirtied clothes (or completely muddied in the case of the passling; that was a question for another time) with splashed of red that could be as much the wearer's own blood as those of the rabble-rousers. Slumped shoulders on a typically straight back was another indicator. The absence of any smile on a disillusioned face was the final clue.

Julian wondered once more whether he should have joined the fighting. Yet it was his way to focus on the present and not the past, and all he could do in the present was listen and comfort if allowed and worry in the silent way that all fathers worry about their breaking children.

Finally Caleb spoke with the voice of a weary old soul that was yet so young. "I will tell you."

It was a poor lie, but the first step towards a desirable truth. Julian smiled with a loving, knowing sadness at Caleb.

"Is something bothering you now?"

Of course there would be no desirable answer (although no answer that implicated his son in a state of less than fine was desirable, but at least it would be true). The man had not expected one.

He had, however, expected _something._

"Are you alright, Caleb?" Julian asked, his brow now deeply furrowed in response to the young commander's silence.

There was still no verbal answer, only a physical tensing of muscles that spoke of rebellion against any perceived as a threat. Then shoulders sagged once more and Caleb slumped against the wall.

"I am tired," Caleb said.

Julian blinked. A wash of a relief far greater than when he had greeted his son not so long before overcame him, a wave that rose up against all the worry that had been accumulating over the past weeks, the past months. It was the truth; not all of it, but enough. A start. But now was not the time to focus on the small foothold that had been placed in an otherwise completely smooth and un-climbable cliff face that would see his son lay broken at the bottom.

The bearded man looked over Caleb with a concerned eye. "What do you need?"

"To be alone." The seventeen year old looked up, his the ghostly anguish that hung over his face visible even from where Hay Lin stood. "Just for now. Please."

How many fathers could refuse such a broken request from their only child, a child who had had the world ripped out from under him again and again, who barely remembered any world at all that was not torn? A child who was simply struggling to keep themselves together when it all was falling apart? A child who had admitted, even if just for the briefest of moments in even less unintentionally confessing words, that all was not well and fine?

Julian seemed about to argue or at least insist that he stay with his only son. The man's instincts and experience with fighters who had the same desolate look floating behind the guard in their eyes screamed at him to never, _never_ leave such a look alone. But the air between his son and he was not right for breathing life into such instincts now. That could come later, would come later when words of accumulated advice would be more welcome and heeded to.

For now his son needed something else, someone else to prove that life was simply not as bad as his head was making it out to be. Julian tweaked the edge of his lips in a bittersweet motion. If she was not here, than the next best person was.

"Alright."

The man stepped away from the boy, fighting every urge to add a two two-lettered words in front of the one he had just spoken. The phrase would not be believed in any case; Caleb had certainly not believed it before when he had, for one heart stopping moment, broken almost beyond repair and he had not ceased his lack of belief in the too long a time their argument had carried on for.

Old eyes looked up to meet young, lively ones. Quintessence might be the element of life itself (and how he despised the woman who had brought the greatest life about only to almost carelessly destroy it), but everything that lived needed air. That much Julian knew. How else could they continue breathing?

The girl smiled reassuringly at him, cheerful brightness still miraculously undiminished. There was a promise, an oath in her eyes made all the more honest for the innocence still not lost to the fickle whims of a dark world.

And it hurt, just a little, that the father knew there was no way he could replace that same innocence in the eyes of his son.

Julian inhaled a steadying rush of air. What was done could not be undone. _Focus on the now, not the past._

So the man nodded his head to the Guardian of Air and all things that air represented, and walked away to where he could see Drake's red cape sweeping between the guards just outside the palace doors. His son was in good hands – one set green and sly and stinking, the other covered in paint. He would simply have to trust that they could banish that look in his son's eyes and conjure a smile in its place, even if it was only for a little while.

Meanwhile, the smile-inducing pair in question had finally finished their own series of greetings, with Hay Lin promising to make Blunk at the very least a new hat to replace the one he had lost during the fighting and his subsequent covering in mud on the return back to the palace. Now, as Blunk stood ineffectively picking dirt out of his nails (sometimes even passling's felt they got a little _too_ dirty), the Hay Lin frowned a little at where her other close Meridian friend was half standing, half leaning. It was but for a heartbeat of those energetic molecules bouncing around them and soon enough the Guardian of Air had come to smile once more, hands unconsciously hovering above the good fortune and hope that graced her arms.

She knew exactly what would cheer her friend up.

Hay Lin made a frantic dash to where she had laid her bag and the now mostly dry canvas, Blunk following her unexpected movement curiously. Ignoring both the passling and her paint bag, the young artist carefully took up the first work she had made that day (and over several consecutive days, slowly chipping away at it with every visit).

"What is it?" Blunk asked as he tried to get a look.

Hay Lin held the canvas behind her back, out of reach of muddy fingers. "You'll see."

The girl then drifted over to where her friend had slumped against the wall not caring for the dirtied marks he left behind. He cared even less for the stench that followed behind his Chinese-American friend. The company the smell brought with it would be welcomed enough. So too was the one armed hug (made all the more difficult for the canvas she kept hidden; if she used just a little magic to keep it afloat then no one needed to know) that he was immediately encompassed in by his air-like friend.

"I'm glad you're alright," Hay Lin said earnestly. "Your father was worried."

Caleb tweaked his lips at the girl and squeezed her arms and shoulders back. Then he pulled away, the unimpeded expressive side of himself shuttering off ever so slightly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Hay Lin grinned. It was as though a swift and unexpected wind had blown across her face, changing its expression from caring friend to gleeful friend with a secret they know the other is going to love.

"I was painting," she answered, an abnormally short explanation for the particularly talkative girl.

"I saw the…quail, was it? It was good," Caleb said. "You have talent."

Hay Lin grinned further and blushed slightly at the compliment, although it was nothing that the former rebel leader had not said before.

"Thank you," she gushed. "I'm glad you think so! I could always paint something for you if you wanted, although I couldn't do it today because I've almost run out of half my colours and I need to wash my brushes properly, but I can give you this now if you want it. I really, really hope you like it. I think you'll like it."

And she shoved the paint covered canvas into the boy's bewildered hands.

"I made it for you," the girl said brightly, if a bit timidly. After all, what was more nerve wracking for an artist than waiting for the critique of their best work?

Caleb gave no reply as he stared upon the detailed surface of the painting. His brown and weary eyes flitted from the lazily rising sun to the swirling mass of green below it dotted with dabs of flowery paint (and as his eyes glowed a little here, the Air Guardian knew who it was that had strode with confident grace into his thoughts). The same eyes darted here and there to spy the birds that Hay Lin had so enjoyed painting, their magnificent crests and brilliant wings forever gliding on a frozen wind. The boy then took in the mass of swirling colour that formed an abstract and wholly realistic photograph of the sunrise he had born witness to all those weeks ago.

As Caleb's eyes grew a little brighter, his mouth arcing a little wider with each detail he studied, Hay Lin's own smile grew. The girl clapped her hands together in glee, uncaring of the paint smudged on her arms by the action. She had no more need for such pictures anyway.

"Elyon knew you would like it," she said brightly. "And so did I when she told me. It was her idea, you know. I only did the painting. The view was beautiful and the sunrise too. I can see why you like that spot. Maybe we can sit and watch it together sometime. Where will you hang it? Elyon suggested your room."

"What is it? What is it? Show Blunk. Show Blunk."

"Alright, alright!" Caleb chuckled – not a true laugh, but not quite a dead one either – as his passling friend began to climb over him in impatience. "It's a painting."

"Ooo," came the smuggler's ever-ready-to-take-note-of-a-sellable-item voice. "Pretty painting."

"You can't have it. It's mine," the young commander asserted. "Hay Lin made it for me. From the advice of a Queen I have to thank as well it seems…"

His words had trailed off into a mumble only the air could hear as he contemplated his gift. Meanwhile Blunk had taken to pulling on the pants Hay Lin had worn that day.

"Paint a picture for Blunk," the passling pleaded. "Please. Blunk promises not to sell it! Paint Blunk a picture."

The young artist laughed. "What do you want it to be of?"

"Blunk's treasure?"

"Really?" Caleb's infamous dry tone had finally arrived with his lightened mood.

"Blunk's treasure is beautiful," the passling said stubbornly.

"It can be of your treasure if you want," Hay Lin placate even as Caleb snorted in amused disbelief.

Now more guards were coming into the room, Drake and thus Julian still hanging back as they conversed about things more serious than offended passlings. The visiting Earth inhabitant's memory took it as a cue to suddenly remind the girl it belonged to of what needed doing.

"Oh," Hay Lin gasped. "I've got to get back home! I think I'm late already. Sorry, I'll try and visit again soon. Or you two could visit us! How long has it been since you have? I know Matt has been wanting to talk to you. What am I doing? I need to go! Sorry again."

Caleb laughed, still a little stunned by his gift. "That's alright."

"Blunk visit tomorrow if creative girl allows it," the passling swore.

"That would be great! Just…don't come to the restaurant unless you're completely clean. I mean it." With leavening a pointed finger hanging in the air, the Guardian of said element turned to fold her way through the worlds that made up the universe.

"Hay Lin."

The voice stopped her as well as any hand on her arm would have.

Caleb gave his friend a genuine smile. "Thank you."

And the air, those vibrant, vigorous molecules incapable of ever being truly crushed, beamed right back at him in an expression of pure glee.

* * *

 **SYMBOLISM OF COLOURS (given that Hay Lin is of Chinese descent, I figured she would know the symbolism of different colours in Chinese, as well as Western world/America):**

 _ **Orange = transformation (China)**_

 _ **Red = good luck & happiness/joy (China); love/passion (Western- I'm bending this towards love between friends for this story ;)**_

 _ **Pink = love (China - could also symbolise this for Western)**_ \- on Julian's arm, I imagined Hay Lin using this to reflect his love for Caleb as his son, also ended up tying in (unintentionally funnily enough) with Julian thinking about his past loves (and Caleb's current love) too

 _ **White = purity & death/mourning (China); purity & innocence (Western)**_ \- white really fit the bit where it was, I think, how Julian talks about when Caleb was a child, yet at the same time would be speaking with the sadness of how such innocence had 'died' in Caleb; plus it echoes Hay Lin (and Julian's) anxieties about the possible bad outcome of the battle and Hay Lin's own innocence/purity

 _ **Green = health, vitality, hope (China - I could be wrong with my research about the last one, forgive me if I am); luck (Western)**_

 **SYMBOLISM OF ANIMALS (in China):**

 _ **Dragon = good fortune (also ties with the mythology surrounding the Guardians in this fandom)**_

 _ **Rabbit = hope**_

 _ **Quail = courage**_

 ** _Phoenix_** _ **= good fortune, strength and resilience**_

 _ **Tiger = dignity, strength, protection (ward off harm and ensure safekeeping)**_

 _ **Lion = strength, protection**_

 _ **Pair of butterflies = young lovers**_ \- there's actually a fantastic Chinese myth/love story revolving around two young lovers being turned into butterflies. I don't remember it's name exactly, but it is worth looking up if you like such things.

 ***Order of what Hay Lin paints when talking to Julian: Chinese dragon & rabbit (Hay Lin's arms), Quail (Julian's arm)**

 **Fun fact about the Mandarin Chinese symbol for 'happy'** _ **\- apparently the first character means swift/fast/quick and the second means happy/laugh/cheerful. I thought it suited Hay Lin.**_

 **I hope that you enjoyed this one. I'm not entirely sure of its quality or how it turned out, particularly the Hay Lin and Julian bit (actually, this chapter is terrible; I slacked on addressing their emotions regarding Caleb being away at least in a more direct manner - see Hay Lin's drawing as a more subtle reflection of her emotions - and probably slacked a bit on addressing Caleb's PTSD issues which is the focus of this series. The ending might be a bit rushed too [I really just wanted to finish the thing and my style of writing of 'connect the dots of scenes I've already written' is not particularly fun when you loose you mojo] and generally I don't think the writing in this chapter is at its best. Got me back in the gist though, so that's something, plus its set up for the next chapter which I promise will be better). I am sure that the description in this one killed me though, as well as determining the symbolism behind the different colours and animals (yay for research...). And linking the bits I had already written and had a stronger image of was a real, well, Phobos too. -_-**

 **I also hope that you noticed the idea that Elyon had of Hay Lin painting Caleb the Meridian sunset in chapters 1/2 and that was hinted at in chapter 5 was played on here. ;) Anyway...**

 **I was going to put Cornelia in this one, but decided against it - kept it to Hay Lin's perspective with a focus on Julian and Caleb (with some Blunk thrown in). I promise that a) Corenila will feature heavily in the next chapter (as will Caleb and Blunk), b) it will address that look Julian saw in Caleb's eyes and c) the next chapter will be up sometime at the end of next week at the latest (I've been looking forward to writing it). Although, again, updates for following chapters will probably take me a bit longer or else be sporadic.**

 **Aside from my own writing (which I really need to get a start on so it will be taking priority now writing wise; fingers crossed I actually complete something -_- ), the other fandom (which I've got WAY more ideas sitting on hold for than this one, so will be slightly higher in writing priority after the next chapter for this) and new job, Christmas is around the corner and I've got to organise uni for next year. So I'm increasingly busy. That said, I'll try and make my posts on here as often as possible. I also don't mind if you nag or really really really want an update (i.e. really really really nag). At least that way I'll know you still care. ;) In any case, apologies in advance for long gaps between chapters if they happen (which they probably will). Again, feel free to nag (nicely being the operative word here ;) me if you want for updates.**

 **Please review if you feel so inclined, I would appreciate it very much.**

 **Also, if you have any suggestions for situations regarding this series they would like to see feel free to PM me or leave a review.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **Gees, this chapter was hard to write and I'm not entirely sure about the quality... Also, my apologises for the length of time it took to upload this.**

 **Anyway, this continues on from last chapter with a focus on Caleb's reaction to the need (specifically) for the fight/uprising (because it was an uprising). It probably takes place that night/the following day like really early in the morning…**

* * *

His heart was thumping and his hands were clenched tight and he was gasping, but whatever it was that was happening, it did not seem as bad as what he had experienced weeks before. He still knew where he was and who was around him, though he doubted their existence greatly. And his hands were not shaking.

They were _not_ shaking.

A familiar touch on his shoulder had the young rebel leader closing his eyes. What would have normally provided great comfort unparalleled by all but the one whom had raised him now sent Caleb further into the throws of his confused despair. How cruel was life to conjure such a tantalising illusion?

Cruel enough.

The girl's long hair brushed against the boy's cheek making him shiver at the silken strands. More accurately he shivered at their near ghostly feeling, just non-existent enough to raise that incessant question once more in his head: was this real? Surely not, for the world made no sense. To claim peace and Paradise where there was fighting was nothing short of lunacy.

(The tears on Caleb's face felt real, even if he had forgotten how to stop shedding them. His shaking hands too felt real. They felt real enough to shake him to pieces.)

O, he had hoped that it was true, the young rebel. He had hoped with all his heart that it was true. No more fighting. No more dying. No more threats or tyrants or snakes or… _her._ Just Paradise. But the cynical voice in his head would not be appeased by mere hope; there was always something lurking on the edge ready to devour the peace once more it had warned time and time again.

That something now appeared to be his own head.

There was another presence moving about the youth, tugging at his hands here and his coat there, trying to wheedle a response other than tears and fear from the boy. A friend, Caleb knew that much as large hands attached to a small body continued their worrying. It _seemed_ real, but that was the issue. It had _all_ seemed real and now…

Caleb was quite sure that hope had driven him to madness. It had deluded him and now his delusions were beginning to shatter, never mind cracking.

"Caleb, please look at me."

That voice- A delusion too. A cruel and twisted delusion spun from excessive hope and the maintainer of that hope, because perhaps….

He _wanted_ it to be real, this beautiful dream behind him. He was sure he had wanted nothing more, for if she were real than the rest of it- But the only thing the rebel knew for sure was that his hands were shaking and somewhere along the way he had lost the plot of it all.

Real or not? It was like some sadistic guessing game from his childhood. 'Do I have a black rock or a blue rock in my hand? Where would Aldarn hide while I counted? What place is the safest place to sleep? Is that Father returning or an enemy coming to kill me? _Is_ this _real_ or _not?_ '

As helpful as ever, the world (if it was indeed the world) provided no clarifying answer.

"Caleb, please."

"Caleb listen to pretty blonde girl," Blunk pleaded too.

Neither had returned to the reassurances of safety or that ever continuing lie 'it's alright', not after those same words had merely worsened a situation they had thought could not get worse. _"Caleb, you're safe. Please, you're safe. There's nothing to fear. It's alright. Please, Caleb, it's alright."_

Caleb bowed his head further at the memory. He could not bring himself to believe in those reassurances even now for they told nothing about the true state of reality. The words could merely be bait set by his delusion to keep the seventeen year old within its tangled confines. If that were the truth, then the words would not be the only bait set to accomplish such goals either.

The young rebel knew that the flaxen haired girl had been leaving, had deliberately waited until she was to question everything not wanting to admit the fact that she was merely a good dream when he had dreamed her so close to him. Blunk had been the one to fetch her back when he had overheard a few ragged gasps (sobs) and peeked in to see his best friend knelt on the floor struggling with the idea that Phobos was still King whilst the boy had wasted time living in his own fanciful illusion.

Or had Caleb simply imagined the passling fetching her? Had his dream rebelled against its impeding dismemberment by using any means necessary to keep him from accepting the truth a little longer? He could never deny her, real or not, no matter how much he needed to.

And yet denying her was exactly what he was doing now.

"Please, Caleb."

(A mess of blonde hair had flown out from the portal.

"Caleb!" the distraught girl had sobbed as she threw herself at him. "Oh God, Caleb…"

The young commander had stumbled back, arms flailing for a moment before he realised what to do with them. Then it was as simple an action as breathing to follow through. After all, it had always felt that she was the missing piece that fitted exactly against his chest and the piece that fitted inside his chest to make it truly whole.

"Hay Lin told me what happened. I couldn't- I mean you- I had to-"

Caleb smiled at his lover's less than usual eloquence. She sounded more like him trying to defend himself under her baleful stare than the strong and graceful Guardian he had fallen for. If it was at all possible, the boy loved her all the more for it.

"What if the worst had happened?"

He had produced a smirk and cocky words in return. "You won't lose me so easily."

"I don't want to lose you at all," had come her stubborn reply.

Then lip had crashed against lip in a release of anxiety and fear. The kiss was fast and fierce and chaste, each second accumulating into another until both lovers were left breathless and content. Indeed, if it was all a dream, perhaps there would be no harm in never waking…)

"Look at me."

Caleb could not. To look could prove that she was not real, a fact given away by blurry eyes or an outline that blended with her background too well. He did not want to lose his love to such a risky undertaking. He did not want to prove himself mad either. Yet, to look could as easily prove the Guardian and thus the mad world he had thought himself in true. It would mean that the peace he had helped bring would have vanished once again, suffocated under the ceaseless fighting that plagued Meridian. If that were the case, the young rebel would not know what to think or do. For all the duty that screamed within him, he wished that he could just simply lay down his sword and be happy. So his head remained fixed in its wilted place defiant of even her.

"Caleb really worrying Blunk now. Caleb need to come back now."

Large and slightly furry hands shook the boy's shoulders. For a moment the instant lent some kind of perverse humour to him as he realised that now his shoulders matched his hands.

And still a small part of his mind denied that same shaking. Shaking meant loss of control. Loss of control meant death, and if the world were indeed not as he had thought it was then death was as easy as a command dropped from Phobos' tyrannical lips.

(Visions of men with scarves around their lower face assaulted Caleb and his men. There was much shouting and clashing of steel, a warning call before the first pair of fighters met each other with weapons drawn. The attackers had come from nowhere at all. If it were possible, it would have seemed they sprung from the rumours being pursued by each solider at the time. Drake had been speaking to a woman, Caleb keeping a close eye on his passling friend, and then-

It seemed such a recent memory, but then so did his kiss with the blonde girl beside him. Perhaps they were both memories, just not of what he had thought.)

Real or not? The not seemed like a more likely answer to the young rebel leader for it made more sense for him to be mad than broken. Being broken was the antithesis of what he was: strong, capable, in control, _fine_. Madness though, madness was so far at the other end of the spectrum of who the boy was that it made more sense for him to be mad than for reasonable doubt to slowly be fracturing his mind with nightmares and fears that refused to fade in times of peace. Besides, was it not far better to have made a fake illusion to escape unending war than to slowly lose one's grip on a real Paradise?

A wretched sob wrangled itself free of Caleb's throat once again, breaking the lesson ingrained within to be silent when distressed. He did not know which was better. He did not know which was _real._

When she spoke her voice cut through the fog in his mind like always with sharp but gentle precision. "If you won't look at me then tell me what's wrong. Speak to me Caleb. _Please._ "

"I don't know." The words came unbidden from within him, commanded forth by the desperation of the love of his mind if not his real life and his own sorry state of confusion. "I…don't know. _I don't know._ "

Real or not? Real or not? Was he mad or was he broken? Or was he mad whatever the case, for believing that peace could exist at all?

A listening silence had fallen in the room (or the room in his head) save for Caleb's own rapid breaths. His heart lurched painfully in his chest as it had for the past minutes, twisting this way and that more aggressively as his confusion spilt out in involuntary words.

"I don't know," the seventeen year old continued. "I-"

"What don't you know, Caleb?" The girl's voice was suddenly calmer, more controlled, almost as if afraid to further spook an already spooked creature.

"I-"

The former rebel glanced around his room (was it his room?), at the papers that littered the floor, at the painting only recently hung on the wall. The sunrise it captured glowed back at him, happy and beautiful and radiating the very peaceful calm he could no longer believe. (Perhaps the painting was what had caused him to break down in the first place, its idealistic scenery clashing too harshly with the cynical thoughts in his head).

 _Real or not?_

He shook his head. "This is wrong."

"Why?" she asked gently, coaxing the answer from him. "Why is this wrong?"

The answer burst from the boy violently.

"Because it's supposed to have ended! There's not supposed to be attacks or fighting or rebels. There's not- It's- Everything just-" Caleb could not form the words, could not give voice to what had driven him to this state of confused madness. _Paradise has fallen._ "It's supposed to have ended, but it hasn't. There would be no need for rebels if it had ended."

Maybe that was it, the stone thrown against the glass of his surety. _He_ was a rebel. His soul purpose had been to fight for the freedom of his people against a tyrant king. If he had succeed in that purpose what use would there be for other rebels? Yet, it was rebel blood he had been cleaning off his sword mere hours before.

 _But why? Why? It's supposed to have ended._

It could not be that he supported a vile and evil monarch. That was incomprehensible. It could not be that the people were attempting to violently dethrone a fair and kind Queen. That was wrong. It seemed a paradox or something of the sort, painful and inescapable, and as much as Caleb wanted to stay within this deceivingly safe realm, the only thing that would bring back painless sense was if he were to wake back to the world of his childhood where blood and petty tyrants reigned supreme.

It had to be fake. Horrific reality had to have leaked into a dream of his tainting it with disturbing and grotesque ideas. 'There's no escaping the oppression or the war' a fellow rebel had once told him when he was far younger. This only proved the old man's point. Nothing remained untouched by Phobos' dastardly touch, not even dreams or delusions.

"It was supposed to have ended…" The moan was of the same pitiful sound as child desperately scrabbling to keep some semblance of their naivety.

Paradise, it seemed, had fallen for a second time (if it had ever come into being at all). The need for swords had risen again right under their noses. An ambush – in another state of mind Caleb might have laughed the bitter laugh of those defeated by life who always knew that they would be as everyone always was. He would laugh and point to his father and sweep his arms wide as if saying 'I told you so, I told you so' for he had told them so. _Danger! Danger!_ That incessant voice in his head had been right; there was danger threatening the Paradise they had built. Now that danger would bring their so called 'Paradise' to its feeble knees.

It was like a nightmare he could not wake from and, by everything that he held dear, the young rebel leader hoped that it was simply a nightmare. Paradise was not supposed to fall. He was not supposed to lose control of his own head.

 _Paradise is not supposed to fall_.

Yet, here he was.

It would be better if there never had been a Paradise to begin with. That way he would only have to deal with madness and not the pain of losing when he had so very nearly won his heart's deepest desire.

"Caleb, it _has_ ended." Now the unbridled concern from before was back in the girl's flowing voice.

"And how do you know that we're not just imagining it? That everything is not just wishful thinking?" he bit out with sudden savage and desperate scorn.

"Blunk couldn't imagine this." The voice that dared to speak was as honest as it was serious. "Blunk could only think of it vaguely. No more tyrant or snake-man or bullying of Blunk. Only good and happy things. But Blunk not imagine the festival or streets with playing children or not needing to watch over Blunk's shoulder every minute; Blunk not know how to imagine those things. They _must_ be real for Blunk to know."

There was something familiar in the passling's words. Truly Caleb knew that in his younger years he would not have even comprehended the idea that people could laugh long and loud without suddenly sobering at the grimness of their situation. The ecstasy of a long-awaited freedom, walking instead of sneaking about in shadows, an unshared bedroom, banquets, dances, Earth, her – the young rebel leader could not have imagined her. But were madmen not capable of imagining the most fantastic and fanciful of things?

For a moment brown eyes assailed those of his small friend with a wild pleading. Pleading for what was debatable; Caleb's desire for the world before him to be a mere delusion was as torn as his surety that it was not. The seventeen year old did not want to be mad, but madness was more appealing than going back to that drawn out fight his fellow rebels were most assuredly losing despite their small gains. He was tired of fighting, sick of it to the core. He did not want to fight anymore.

 _Why did I have to fight rebels?_

A flowery scent drifted in front of him and Caleb sobbed. He wanted it all to be real so badly, wanted it with every fiber of his being, but if it was real why had that utopia peace amongst the people been broken?

"Caleb…"

They boy's hands were still shaking, as much from emotion as some inexplicable thing. They shook even harder as more slender ones slid once more over them gently prying fingers from palms before damage could be done. She spoke again cursing him with a want that he knew could not be sated by the waking world. (Which was the waking world? The one he found himself in where good things were subverted by evil over and over? Where Paradises fell even as one was attempting to set the first foundation beneath it? Or the one where no such Paradise had yet been found only to shatter with the next power hungry ruler?)

"Caleb, please." She sounded as though she was crying too. "Please. I'm right here! I'm right here and so is Blunk and we're not going anywhere. I promise. Please, you're scaring me."

The words cut like a knife into his very soul. It also sobered him faster than ice water did a guard made stupid on ale. That he, Caleb, should cause the Earthen beauty against all her stubborn and graceful confidence to admit to being scared–

Such a notion pained the seventeen year old, dream or no.

"Please, Caleb."

Her voice was pleading, begging in such a way that the young rebel leader could scarcely associate with the flaxen haired girl he had conjured up. (And he _must_ have conjured her up for nothing so perfect could exist in the world or his near seventeen years experience of it. It was all fighting and dying and fear and oppression, Paradises falling over and over and over. There was no room for flowers or love other than the familial. They were a dream reserved only for the naïve and mad.) Every beseeching syllable that fell from sweet lips drilled into Caleb's heart, into his very essence. Each sound tore fresh guilt and shame from where those feelings had collected in cesspits of rank and confusing memories until the pits were overflowing with battles and lost friends and slain foes. His hands shook, but they shook within another's trembling slender ones.

 _He_ had scared her, this thing of his dreams whom undeniably owned his heart. _He_ was the reason she cried in salt and sound, this creature, this goddess of his mind. _He_ was the reason she was desperately grasping at his hands, alternatively stroking them and squeezing them. It was a horrible realisation and the hidden cowardly depths of him wanted to flee, to wake and break free of this emotionally turbulent thing consuming him even if it meant accepting a tyrant as king. (Or Queen _mother_. Perhaps they had won the first war, but not the next. There were only so many times that something could fall before it could not rise again.) His braver side wilted beneath the weight of his burden, making it even easier for the coward to clamour for retreat.

Yet, another part of Caleb clamoured too. It was not brave, but more than simple longing, desiring to stay and heal her, sooth her, to hold this blonde dream close. It was selfish reasoning, but if the rebel leader were to wake than the girl would disappear like water vapour in the sun for it was unlikely that he could ever dream a dream so close to perfection again.

(Not for the first time Caleb wondered at how long he had been asleep if he was indeed asleep or else confined in the madness of his head. Was Aldarn worried? Was Drake? Was anyone still alive and free to worry or had Phobos' forces crushed the Rebellion once and for all?)

She was his addiction. Alone in a crumbling _something_ – the world, his psyche, his hopes and dreams of Paradise – the Earthly Guardian gave him breath for all she restricted his chest. Every rise and fall driven by air was driven by his need to feel her presence a moment longer. It made no difference if she was a pretty illusion or a substantial person. The pain that would come from being without her would be as real as Caleb's shaking hands.

 _Perhaps it would be better to remain asleep…_

Still, still there was one thing that spoke against beautiful flowers. Duty, his duty as leader of the Rebellion to free his oppressed people, his duty as a commander of the Queen's guard to ensure his people would never be oppressed again. Love was addictive but duty had molded him, had made him before he had made delusions. Through the bewildering sea the boy could feel it calling to him, demanding that he wake if it proved a dream, that he accept if it proved a reality. 'Answer the question' was its steadfast mantra. 'Answer and be done with it.'

 _Real or not? You must answer and do your duty._

The call caused through his churning blood as though it were his life-force itself. But flowers called him too as did fear of slow growing madness. They tugged him this way and that, towards one answer and than the other never letting Caleb realise the truth whatever it might be. Then there were the rebels of the recent (maybe) memory, the rebels that contradicted his intrinsic beliefs in one reality. The other battled with his desire for peaceful endings to foolish, petty kings.

 _Real or not? Real or not?_

Surely a dream would not be so confusing.

A tiny shoot of hope pushed its green head valiantly through the swirling muck of bewilderment atop it. It was a bold little thing. Resilient, defiant, nothing else could be so clearly determined not to be crushed like the grand but fragile trees that had gone before. There was an answer, perhaps even one that allowed Caleb's lover to be more than a mere dream. There was an answer if only he had the courage to seek it.

It was on this notion that the shoot's roots delved into the matter of his consciousness. They grew rapidly and longer with every passing moment that the hope was allowed to fester, moving deeper and deeper until they tapped into a well that seemed to be the very core of the boy's confusion and all the emotions it had invoked. There was longing, fear and cowardice, anguish and wild desperation – each and every one rolled into a hard ball that had stuck in his chest. Now it stuck no more. Hope had pulled it free.

The ball rushed up Caleb's sternum, bubbling all the while as it lost its shape to a wave that engulfed him. He was caught by the magnitude of it all, paralysed and left bereft of tears as the wave expanded further and further until it covered everything in the world that the seventeen year old had questioned. For a moment it threatened to tear him excruciatingly apart.

Real or not, the three words the youth's world had been reduced to. Now it would be condensed further as it all rushed forth from his mouth, the shoot, the roots, the confusion, the coward and the longing – everything squashed into three more tentative words:

"Is this real?"

Then Caleb sagged, utterly spent. He could do no more, offer no more. So he waited for an answer be it bad or good, even if he did not know which was bad or which good – that he was mad or that there were rebels he had fought.

A hand came up to cup his weary, tear stained face.

"Yes. This is real, Caleb."

Yet it was the little green passling beside him that finally convinced the former rebel leader, him and his string of frantic affirmatives. The blonde girl would not lie to him in reality, but if this reality were a dream than she was the spell that kept him under. Blunk, Blunk had no reason to lie. The seventeen year old was not focused on him. In correspondence with the law of dreams (and not the vivid nature of nightmares, for anything with her so reassuringly close could hardly be a nightmare) his good friend should have blurred a little, faded even, but he had not.

"Blunk's smell is real," the passling continued earnestly. He even offered a lifted arm as proof. "Can't fake Blunk's smell."

Just as the undesirable odour had woken Caleb from a catatonic state before, so it woke him from the crippling confusion. No dream of his would contain, _could_ contain such a terrible imagined stench.

The former rebel doubled further from where he knelt hazardously on the ground. So far did he bow beneath the shock of snapping back into himself that his head almost brushed the familiar floor of his room. The air suddenly felt indisputably cold on his face. The floor was indisputably hard against his legs. It was real, all of it, the victory, the peace, the rebels, the blonde girl beside him. It was all very much real.

"Caleb?"

"I'm sorry." Automatic words, as sincere as they could be from one who had very nearly lost his mind.

"Don't be."

"I-" It was all real and so, in that moment, was his blatant vulnerability. "How will I know this is real if I doubt it again? What if I forget? What if I forget you, both of you?"

"Blunk will remind Caleb," Bunk swore solemnly. "Caleb can count on Blunk."

"But what if that's not enough next time?"

The silence was heavy, crushing all three present with thoughts that none of them wanted to think. Yet, they could not help but think it.

Caleb gripped his knees then released them, fisting his hands before forcing them to hang loosely against his legs. He was scared, he could admit that even if it was just for the immediate present, scared that he would be dragged back into the same confusion he had only just escaped. He was scared that the fracturing he had anguished over would happen, was _already_ happening to the one thing he had learned to rely on above all else – his mind. What good was he to the kingdom, to Elyon, to anyone who needed him if he could not control his own head? What good would he be in defending against those who would see peace ended like the so-called rebels he had only so recently face?

It was almost enough to send him back into hysterics, only now he was more sober than ever. Even if his head felt weirdly light, the boy was all too aware of the consequences of such a loss of control. And yet, and yet…

 _I am fine. I_ have _to be._

He just had to ensure that he never toed the line of madness again.

 _But how?_

His hands kept up their shaking.

Then she spoke, the familiar problem-solving confidence back now that her lover was. "You're afraid that you'll forget what's real again?"

Caleb swallowed and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"I think I've figured out a way to help you remember this is real if you do." There was a pregnant pause. "Look, please."

Caleb lifted his head.

The usually bare window which had held a variety of large and vibrant blooms so many days before was now filled with a thick bush of dainty, faint purple flowers on the ends of leafy sprigs.

"Rosemary," their maker said in his ear. "They are for you to remember."

"Pretty flowers," Blunk agreed. He patted Caleb's hand again.

" _This_ is real," the scented flowers spoke softly.

Caleb hesitantly touched one, shivering at the velvety leaves contrasted with the silken feel of the tiny petals beneath his fingertips.

"You _are_ real," the flowery fragrance continued. " _We_ are _real._ "

Blunk nodded in agreement off to the side. "Caleb real. Pretty blonde girl real. Blunk very real."

The young commander reached out a steadied hand to touch the plants again. He closed his eyes and smelt the sharp twang as the small leaves were bent by his fingers. He traced their delicate veins, imagining that he could sense the life throbbing within in them just as she could. Yes. This was real.

"See," the voice breathed. Lips pressed against his fervently. He kissed her back just as hard.

The two pulled apart, breaths intoxicated with something far more potent than any substance. Here they stayed, their foreheads pressed together with the only touch they needed, tear tracks still evident on their faces. A skinnier pair of arms with large hands wrapped themselves almost unnoticed around the boy's waist, adding their own physical reassurance to the mix. The boy merely stared into the girl's vibrant eyes and tentatively smiled.

Yes, _this_ was real. For it to be anything else, for the glow in his chest that grew the longer he held her gaze with his friend's arms around him to be anything else, was impossible.

If anyone noticed Caleb twirling a sprig of rosemary between his fingers for the rest of the day, stopping every so often to trace the leaves and sniff his fingers with a ghostly smile on his lips, no one said anything about it. If fathers noticed a lessening of broken edges in their sons' eyes, they stayed silent too.

* * *

 **IN TERMS OF PLANT MEANING: _rosemary = remembrance._ It also has a distinct smell and strong smell that can't really be dismissed as fake (well, it could, but the idea in my head is that the smell/feel could cut through a panic attack or memory and bring him back somewhat). Thus I chose it for Cornelia to give to Caleb to help remind him that the world he is in now is real. Plus it links him further with her. **

**This is a partial fill for ZikkiLightwoodShadowhunters' request that Cornelia see Caleb in a less than favourable state. I worked it in with an idea I already had going and twisted it a little bit so it was more Caleb's perspective of her seeing it, so hopefully it turned out well. It was a LOT harder than I thought it would be to write this chapter in full from Caleb's perspective, so if it's confusing or badly written I do apologise. The next few chapters will also be stemming from prompts and suggestions.**

 **ON CALEB'S FEAR THAT THE WORLD ISN'T REAL, JUST A DREAM/DELUSION: **

**As established in previous chapters Caleb as I've written him is afraid that the bottom is going to drop on the peaceful 'Paradise' they are in. It's already happened once (with Nerissa) so in hi mind his thoughts revolve around what is to say it won't happen again? Given he was raised (bar two years he doesn't really remember) in a civil war situation under Phobos' tyranny his entire life until 15/16 when Phobos was defeated, which reverted back to Nerissa than Phobos, and then 17 which is the now, I think he would also have a fear deep inside him that everything is just a dream/not real. In other words, as fighting and war and oppression is what he mostly knows he fears that things will not just revert back to the old, but that they never left. Which brings in the question of him going mad. This fear, I believe, would kind of be something he a) doesn't truly realise he has and/or b) doesn't really address. It kind of just exists there in the crevices of his mind. Until this chapter. ;)**

 **This chapter I decided to explore this fear of his and thus have him question whether everything around him in this 'new' life (including from when the Guardians first entered his life) to now is real or a dream or a nightmare. WHY I feel he would delve into this so blatantly now and not before is because of the fact he fought _rebels_ last chapter. There would have been rumours of unrest and possibly some riots, etc. before last chapter (and I think Caleb was investigating said rumours), but to actually be attacked by an organised group puts another question into Caleb's head that questions what he knows and plays on this fear. As I said before he has lived under oppression for most of his 17 year long life and all of his childhood (excluding 2 years before when he was first born and a few instances of peace from 16-17). AS WELL AS THIS he also grew up amongst rebels dedicated to putting an end to Phobos' tyrannical reign for the good of the land and people. Thus his knowledge of rebels is skewed to his experience: they fight against oppression for good. He himself was a rebel who fought for this cause. Now the original Rebel group he led have disbanded under Queen Elyon whom many, including himself, guard and help maintain her reign. So when rebels attack to get rid of the new Queen his knowledge is flipped - either the rebels are opposing a tyrant which he is supporting, or the rebels who are supposed to - in his head - help the people against a bad ruler are attacking a good Queen. Neither fits in with his mind view (at this point; don't worry, he'll expand it later) and thus makes him question whether things are real because it doesn't make sense otherwise (he c _an't_ be supporting a bad ruler, but his experience with rebels say that they can't be attacking a good one). Thus the rebels become something that he thinks could be 'reality' (i.e. still fighting Phobos or whatnot) leaking into his delusion/dream.**

 **The icing on the cake that pushed him off the edge though, is the fighting itself. Note that this fight is the first I envision of people actually working against other people - not so much a riot or a monster needing to be taken care of. Also note that this is the first major fight I envision Caleb in after they defeated Nerissa and took down Phobos again (bar any fights at the very beginning that required Phobos supporters being taken down). These facts alone would probably affect him a) proving him right about his fears that they are still threatened and not safe (Gees, definitely going to be a backlash there) and b) makes him wonder whether they had succeeded at all because if they had everything was supposed to have ended. This paves the way for a good session of doubting the existence of everything and reality itself. But alone I doubt it would be enough to** **cause him to doubt _everything including Cornelia,_ but with his own experience of life being mainly fighting/oppression/tyrants and the rebel thing above I feel that it would be. **

**Alright, I'm losing the plot here... Simply put, the rebels + the fighting + Caleb's life experience = major fear and thus doubting of everything including Cornelia. If that makes sense.**

 **And Cornelia isn't the one to pull him from his funk because she would be so deeply ingrained in his version of 'Paradise' which he is doubting. Blunk's stench, on the other hand, I figured is kind of hard to deny. ;)**

 **A FINAL NOTE ON LENGTH OF UPDATES \- I know I said I would try fortnightly, but that's clearly not going to happen due to life. :-/ I'll try my best, but as of now this is shifting down in priority list to my own writing and life in general. That said it will most assuredly not be abandoned. Feel free to nag politely for an update though. ;) **

**Please review if you feel so inclined, I would appreciate it very much.**

 **Also, if you have any suggestions for situations regarding this series they would like to see feel free to PM me or leave a review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **One that's perhaps a little lighter than the previous. It follows the events of the previous as well, set perhaps a week or so after. The quality might be a little rough.**

* * *

"Three."

"Five."

"Three."

"Caleb…"

"Fine!"

That word, a curse upon both their ears. It echoed through the tense vacuum it had created with an almost sadistic glee.

The boy frowned in defiant defeat. "I will stay until you have caught five fish between you."

Julian sighed. That was the best he was going to get. At least Drake more than likely would not actually be fishing. Tynar, however, was good enough for the both of them.

For a moment the man regarded Caleb with tight lips, taking in the drawn face, the well-disguised anguish behind the young brown eyes and the dark smudges beneath them that were becoming prominent once more. Sleep was rarely kind to the sufferers of war in the man's experience. It was even less so to his son.

Julian was still unsure of what had exactly unfolded the day the new rebels had ambushed the palace guards. He, however, knew of the consequences that day had brought. There was talk amongst the people of another war that would match the scale of the last, fears that scale would be superseded. Elyon's well-meaning confidence had taken a blow and she seemed all the more determined to bring peace for it. The guards were on edge. Those of the previous Rebellion were indignant. (And it seemed that there were always rebellions somewhere. No one was every truly happy…) Vathek reported that the bastards locked up were more than interested at this new development. And Caleb-

Caleb had reverted back to the first weeks after the successive fall of Nerissa, Phobos and Cedric. The only difference was that the young commander now seemed to carry a sprig of rosemary everywhere he went.

 _Ah, young love._ A bitter thought as well as a sweet one – Nerissa had made sure of that.

But love was not what had driven Julian to coerce his son into fishing. At least not the sort of love that most stories, both tragic and heroic, contained.

"Would you carry this?" the man asked. "My hands are full."

Begrudgingly his son accepted the unstrung fishing pole. Both knew the request for what it was; a means to ensure that Caleb did not suddenly change his mind and forgo the expedition designed for him to relax.

Smiling in thanks, Julian shifted the objects in his hands a few more times before he was comfortable in setting off without the impending danger of dropping something. More than half he likely wouldn't need, but if it ensured that his overworked son would stay for a few hours then the extra weight would be worth it. All he had to do was get the youth to the river. Drake and Tynar were more than capable of helping to keep him there.

"I do have duties I need to attend to."

"I am sure they can wait," Julian replied patiently.

The man continued walking, his seventeen year old son striding along by his side. It would do the boy good to relax, to take time away from the worries of the day, to be reminded that not everything in his life had to revolve around swords and duty. Julian sighed to himself. Two out of three would have to do.

"Are you sure that Drake and Tynar won't mind?" Caleb asked. "I don't want to impose."

"They will be glad to see you."

"They see me every day."

 _If only that were true…_ Julian glanced sideways at his son, but made no comment aloud. He himself had barely seen his son save when exchanging guard duty of Elyon or at meetings focused solely on the issue of the new rebels. It was not for lack of trying, either. The seventeen year old was simply never where he should have been: not in the dining hall, not in his bed, not in the rooms where the men held their games, not even in the peaceful sanctuary of the royal gardens.

Elyon had reassured the man that she had ordered a servant to gently remind the young commander to eat (and ordered Caleb to accept the bowl of food shoved in front of him at regular intervals least he wanted Vathek to take up the same task). No one had reported the boy collapsed on the floor from exhaustion or excessive anxiety. Yet.

No, there would be no getting out of this for his son no matter what he tried.

"Besides, you only brought one fishing pole."

"You are coming fishing, Caleb," Julian said firmly. "You have given your word that you would."

"Only because you forced it from me," the youth muttered.

His father smiled in amusement. This would hopefully turn out to be a good few hours, if not day.

"The river is not much farther," he said simply.

For a short while only quiet surrounded the two, father and son comfortable enough to walk together with nothing else between them. The tension that Caleb felt at his time being eaten up by something not devoted to restoring peace to the fickle world he lived in was evident in his too tight grip on the fishing pole and too jittery pace slowed by lack of sleep. Julian, by contrast, was calmer at least externally. His son was with him and alive. Everything else could be fixed.

The used, but uncommon path the pair were following took them straight to where the rushing river cut through the landscape. Here they began to move downstream along the riverbank, making good time for their leisurely (at Julian's instance) pace.

A horrible twang ricocheted through the air, sounding for every sound that had ever existed like the guttural chokes of a dying lute.

Already stopped short by the first godforsaken twang, the second had Julian grimacing where they stood in a unique sort of pain. Caleb too could not escape the grimace. His head, though, was whipping frantically around to detect the origin of the noise.

"What was that?"

"Drake, I presume," Julian said. "He has been attempting to learn the lute."

"I remember now," Caleb said darkly. Even he, in his self imposed busyness, had been unable to completely avoid the impressive failure that was the red cloaked captain's practicing.

"Ah, Julian! Come to join the torture?" Tynar called as father and son strode around the bend in the river.

"I will have you know I serenaded a young woman yesterday evening and she agreed to walk about the city with me tonight," Drake defended from where he leaned against a tree, the instrument of torture held securely in his hands.

Tynar snorted. "Was it out of pity? Or because that was the only way to get you to stop?"

Julian tuned out the two as he went about placing the gear he carried down and setting up his fishing pole. Carefully he tied a small hook to the end of a length of line, then the line to his pole. On the hook he loaded a small piece of bait. Once finished, the man then stood near where Tynar had cast his own line and drew back the length of wood and line over his shoulders. He drew in a breath reveling in the sharp scents of the river.

The familiar actions were soothing, allowing his mind to clear itself of everything from worry to anger to remorse and be in that simple, blank state he had possessed before Phobos became a tyrant. It was a state of his past self he had envied of for so long during the Rebellion where it seemed as though his mind would never be blank of violence and despair again. Now he had managed to reclaim it again like many things from his old life – his son, peace, a ruler worthy of ruling Meridian and its people. That he had discovered fishing was what gave him the pleasure was somewhat of a half fluke and a half desperate wish that it would banish the darker images from his mind. That he had acquired Drake then Tynar for consistent and relaxed company only added to the benefits of his newfound escape.

Julian inhaled again, feeling the calm atmosphere around him. Then he swung his arm forward like a whip.

There was a small plonk as the baited hook sunk beneath the river's surface.

The bearded man sat beside where his son had resignedly dropped to the dry ground just beyond the bank. A determined series of twangs filled the air like a jumble of confused sounds that were unsure of what their purpose was.

"So, Caleb, you decided to come fishing?" Drake asked.

"Only because my father had me over a promise he extracted to go with him," Caleb replied. "I said I would stay until you caught five fish between you. I didn't say I would fish though."

Drake grinned as he strummed away at the long-suffering strings of his lute. Several twangs resonated unpleasantly through the air.

"With Tynar's luck you'll be here all week then," the young man said.

"It will be _your_ fault if we are here all week," his larger friend shot back.

"How so?" Innocent words in a voice without a shred of innocence.

"Because your instance upon practicing that vile instrument is creating such a damn racket that it will make the fish flee from the pain in their poor, delicate ears!"

Drake gave a bark of glee. "Their poor, delicate ears? There is nothing delicate about the fish in these parts. One could give you far completion for your looks _and_ take Vathek in a wrestling match."

He laughed again and Caleb laughed along with him at the all too true imagery his comment had provided.

The sound startled Julian from where he was inspecting his cast line. Caleb laughing was something he had not heard in what seemed like a long time. Certainly not in the past week and the events that had preceded it. It was a sound he had sorely missed for more reasons than one.

The bearded man wondered if he should have invited Caleb to the one of the earlier fishing trips. Even if it was not working completely, it seemed to be doing the seventeen year old some good.

At least his friends' constant bickering was useful for something if not for catching fish.

"You could at least _try_ to pretend you care about attracting the fish so we can catch them," Tynar growled irritably.

Drake grinned and strummed a few more horrendously twanging notes on his lute. "And once I have mastered this instrument I will be able to serenade the fish to wherever you want them to go."

"That would require talent first."

Another terrible strum. "Have you been talking to Vathek?"

"How could I when we would each be unable to hear the other over your playing?"

Caleb's father caught his son's eye and both smiled in amusement.

There was higher twang this time. "And just how is _your_ playing, Tynar?" 

"The least you can do if you are going to assail us with your lack of skills, Drake, is to set up a fishing pole of your own," Julian finally broke in before a true argument could break out.

"I think I will leave that to those who enjoy fishing."

"More likely because you cannot catch a fish if it jumped into your lap," Tynar said.

Caleb's amused smirk at that and his father's subsequent smile seemed enough to sooth Drake's insulted feelings for the time being. Julian had no doubt, however, that the night would not be a quiet one for Tynar.

"Go back to your fishing, you brute," the captain said amiably. "Leave the music to us other folk."

His larger friend grinned genuinely, although his hands tightened reflexively about the pole within them. Had anyone else deigned to call the former soldier of Phobos a brute – an incidence that seemed to happen more often than not despite the leaps that Tynar had his comrades had made – a far different reaction would have taken place. Sorrow was not reserved for the mourning alone and remorse was a universal sentiment.

For a while the natural rush of the river filled the space between friends. The discordant twangs of a hapless lute merely complimented nature's own strange harmony of bird calls that rose and fell with the careless breeze. Not so careless were the breaths that each friend took, measured in everything worth having and worth leaving behind. Truly no inhale or exhale was wasted. Even if the dregs of what haunted them would always refuse to let go, their content was as simple as a soldier's could be.

Drifting unawares to that state of empty sleep, Caleb's breaths were similarly contended, deep and fast and steady. A fish or two bit at the lines set out and a fish or two were caught. It was a peaceful business with no shouts of enthusiasm or exclamations of unbridled ego marring the small victories of the fishermen.

No songs were sung in the absence of conversation, no amiable music made, just that persistent twanging. No tales were shared either for there were tales enough in their heads already. Indeed, soon Caleb's own head was lolling against his father's shoulder as it spun its own tale of restful nothingness.

Julian watched the boy with a gentle smile. It was a father's love the expression bore and a father's melancholy too.

A chord rang through the air more pleasant than most, but still tainted with an amateur air.

"Has he been sleeping?" Drake peered closer at Julian. "Have you?"

"Have _you_?" the bearded man said, not so much as redirecting the question as making a point.

"It is those damned nightmares. They are impossible to escape with everything that has happened." Tynar shook his head with a grim smile. "Go back to your playing, Drake. Perhaps you will, by some miracle, make such sweet sound that we will all dream of it instead and so get some sleep, or, more likely, such wretched noise that it scares away what haunts us."

The young man shot his friend a withering look before taking up the challenge with more vigor than Julian thought was strictly necessary. By Tynar's not so quiet swearing the guard was clearly thinking along the same lines. Just in a not so polite manner.

The bearded man smiled to himself as he checked his line. It was strangely soothing to listen to one good friend rile up another.

The abominable sound continued for a short while with Julian content to let it be and Tynar content to curse it. After a particular vicious series of twangs that sounded more like something being mangled beyond repair though, Julian thought it would be prudent to remind his friend of a certain fact.

Clearing his throat, the bearded man not-so subtly dipped his head to where Caleb leant sleeping against his shoulder. Drake grinned in apology and calmed his plucking of his instrument's strings.

Another while passed with nature humming along to the lute's pathetic sound. Then a chord rung out in a smooth, clear way. Another followed, just as articulate as the one before. Then another. And another.

"By Meridian's Heart, are you actually improving?"

This time it was Julian who shot Tynar a look, the arm of his shoulder not currently being used as a pillow manipulating a hand into a shushing gesture. The bearded man nodded in encouragement at Drake. The young man needed no such encouragement, however, already urged on by the music he was making.

One chord, then two, then three, then four moving up and down like the waves of a crystal lake so still even stone would be hard pressed to match it. A simple rhythm of a simple tune, endlessly repeated in one, two, three, four. It was familiar too and the unshed wetness in Julian's eyes bore testament to that fact.

One, two, three, four went the childhood that had long since passed. One, two, three, four had gone a rhyme that man nor rebel nor slave nor guard could truly force him to abandon. One, two, three, four went up and up and down. One, two, three, four – Caleb stirred against his father's shoulder, a mere boy for all he was a man.

"Pretty leaves, pretty leaves why do you fall and cry?

Pretty leaves, pretty leaves what does it take to die?"

Julian's voice swelled up like a river filled with rain, raw with power and emotion, yet chocked by gravel and roughness.

"Summer is gone and Autumn's soon past;

Pretty leaves, pretty leaves shall you fly at last?"

A simple song for a simple tune made for the memory of young heroes passed whom the children singing had long forgotten. Winter had always been the harshest of months and under Phobos it seemed to have expanded forever. Julian turned his face upwards and closed his eyes. Once more he joined the music Drake weaved.

"Pretty leaves, pretty leaves why do you fall and cry?

Pretty leaves, pretty leaves what does it take to die?

Summer is gone and Autumn's soon past;

Pretty leaves, pretty leaves shall you fly at last?"

So the song went and so he sang it.

Then a chord became a twang and the moment passed and what seemed like fifty fish committed suicide upon the river banks.

"Well, I stand corrected," Tynar finally said. "Your horrendous playing was useful for something after all."

Drake did not bother with a reply, settling for simply empting his lute of the scaled creatures atop the larger being's head.

"I think that it has less to do with his playing and more to do with-" Julian stopped, unable to continue. He unconsciously rubbed where his son's elbow had caught his jaw in surprise. "It had to have been your playing, Drake. I've got no other explanation. Are you alright, Caleb?"

"Yes." The shock of being woken by flying fish took the familiar anger, evasion and denial out of the answer. It was as genuine as they came. "What about you? I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright," Julian reassured, careful with his words as always. "It probably wont even bruise."

The young commander ran a hand down his face, eyes still too alert and muscles still too tensed as though his mind was not convinced that the danger was over yet.

"Well," the youth said slowly as he struggled to comprehend the bizarre situation and settle his abrupt rush of adrenaline. "You succeeded in making me stay until you caught more than five fish. Is fishing always so exciting?"

"Only when you let Drake practice his horrible skills," Tynar replied with a grin.

"We still have not confirmed that it _was_ me who was responsible," Drake broke in, indignant.

Caleb rubbed his face again and leaned back on the grass with a sigh. He squinted up at the sun, shielding his face from its glare with one hand. "Would you say that it was almost noon?"

"Aye," Tynar grunted from where he was collecting the fish in one big basket.

The near eighteen year old sighed again. "I need to be getting back so I can switch guard duty with Aldarn." 

Julian's lips tightened but he made no protest. It was time they all started to head back to their own respective duties in any case. Besides, the man noted with some happiness that his son seemed to bear an air of laziness about him despite his alertness and in contrast to the single-minded drive to work from before.

A curse made the former rebel look around to where Tynar and Drake were staring out into the center of the river.

"You lost the fishing poles," Drake said mildly.

"What's with this 'you'?" Tynar growled. "It was _your_ playing that caused us to let them go in the first place."

"Now they are floating away."

"I've got them," Caleb broke in as Julian shook his head at the antics of the two. Then his son's words sunk in alongside the telltale splash of the youth diving into the water.

"Caleb-"

"Ah, to be young again," Drake said with an overdramatised sigh.

Julian shot the man an incredulous look. "You _are_ still young."

"And he can swim. Stop worrying." The captain grinned at him. "You can always haul him out by his ears later."

"Very funny." Julian kept his eyes on where his son was expertly making his way towards the two floating pieces of wood. All three on the river bank did.

"At least we got a decent haul."

"What 'we'? You did not do any fishing," Tynar said.

Drake worked his face into an expression of feigned innocence. "Here I thought I provoked the fish into flying."

"We all know that I am going to be the one who has to carry it back and then get rid of them."

Julian saw through the mock irritation. It was well known amongst the small group of friends that the former guard of Phobos took the responsibility of repaying the debt he believed he owed the people of Meridian seriously. More often than not in the past months families had found themselves suddenly in the possession of gifts they sorely needed to rebuild their lives. Buckets, blankets, food and even once an entire roof – nothing was too much to give. Indeed, the incidences had been occurring so much so that a myth was beginning to leak into the rhymes of children of the kindly shadow that sought only to do good in spite of the hideous scars it received in battle forcing it to hide.

'Shy Hart' they called their anonymous helper. The name suited Julian's friend well.

"What will you do with the haul?" the bearded man asked. "Give it to another family?"

Tynar shrugged, a movement made more difficult by the guilt that suddenly pressed more insistently on his shoulders. "There is a fish store that is struggling to regain its profits…"

"Will you let them know their benefactor is you?"

The former guard of Phobos looked away.

"Where would be the fun in that?" Drake grinned with disguised understanding for his friend. "It's better to keep alive the fables of the mysterious do-gooder that travels these parts."

Julian nodded his head in assent although inside him seethed… _something_. The man understood the challenge that Tynar would face if he made himself know alongside is actions, the likelihood of rejection of both him and his services which were once used to oppress– No, the man understood that all too well, nor could he condemn the people for it. And yet, he so dearly wished he could.

Tynar had turned, he had changed, he was trying to right his wrongs. In a Paradise that would be enough and he would be forgiven. But it was not a Paradise they lived in. That much Julian understood (that much _Caleb_ understood – though seemed unable to truly comprehend – no matter how much it pained his father). No matter how much one hoped it was, life could never truly be a Paradise, only better than the life that had come before.

The ex-slave and ex-rebel tried unsuccessfully to stretch his neck as he looked to where Caleb was wading back through the river, both fishing poles in hand. Life _was_ better. He just needed his son to believe it.

* * *

 **ON TYNAR'S 'ALTER EGO' NAME: _I thought the people giving his mysterious 'alter ego' the name Shy Hart fitted. Firstly because 'shy' fits with the myth I've got them spinning up about it - that it is a person who deliberately avoids being seen/company. Secondly because 'Hart' sounds like 'Heart' which, in this world, can link to both the heart as in kind, etc. and the Heart as in linking his actions to the Heart of Meridian (or whatnot) something which they deem as powerful and good and is supposed to protect/help the people of Meridian._**

 **ON FISH LEAPING EN MASS: _apparently some schools of fish will leap from the water when startled by sounds such as boat motors. I played with this idea (yes, you could presume Drake's playing is that bad), but haven't specified why the fish leapt out en mass for a reason - namely because you can simply imagine yourselves why they might have done so (and if no good reason comes, I'll plead that this is set in a fantasy world ;)_**

 **The chapter itself stemmed from a suggestion from Wondertown9 to explore the effects of PTSD from Tynar's point of view. It probably wasn't what you were expecting... I felt that he would be more affected by the reactions of the other people towards him for what he previously did - not that he wouldn't suffer from some probably mild to medium form of PTSD depending on how Cedric, etc. treated their troops - so I think I ended up focusing a bit more of that as well as how the three men have outlets for dealing with their experiences, feelings and/or PTSD (as opposed to Caleb who has none). I** **love the idea that Drake and Tynar became friends (as I think was kind of shown in the show's second season if I'm remembering right) so I decided to add that as well.**

 **The most fun part about writing this chapter, I think, was writing a) the different ways PTSD has affected them and b) the different ways they each deal with it. Caleb, as you would have figured by now, is a mess (but he's getting there, don't worry). Julian talks to others, focuses on the present and has Caleb to look after which is further incentive to talk and get through his own issues. I also like the idea he goes fishing or does some other relaxing activity. Tynar I also see as fishing (and anonymously giving his catches to the poor/villages), as well as helping out the villages through rebuilding, getting supplies, etc. to help make amends for his wrongs. He also talks as does Drake (see a pattern here between those who are coping and a certain someone who isn't coping so well?) Drake's main outlet I've figured to be his attempt to learn the lute – it requires his focus, gives him a challenge that is different from fighting/guard duties/etc. and gives him a means to express his feelings however badly he plays.**

 **The next chapter should be up by next Sunday because I want to post it on a specific date; I'll be getting back to the more nitty gritty stuff of Caleb's PSTD in it too (unlike this one which kind of only touched on it). Other than that though, I will a) not give anything else away about it and b) the other updates will take a lot longer (although bear with me - I won't give up on this just yet).**

 **Please leave a review if you are so inclined. I miss seeing them in my inbox...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.**

 **Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.**

 **Alright, today is _Red Hand Day_ (12th February - in Australia which might be a little ahead of some of your timewise), or the _International Day Against the Use of Child Soldiers._ This day actively calls for people to join the campaign against the use of child soldiers and raises awareness about this ongoing issue. There are still a great many child soldiers in the world, children who are forced to fight and those who choose to fight back against certain forces for whatever reason. In a lot of cases this has a lasting impact on the child whether it be physical injury or psychological issues like PTSD, depression, aggression and social withdrawal. For more information Google 'Red Hand Day'.**

 **I felt that it would be befitting to update a chapter of this series as Caleb himself in W.I.T.C.H. is technically a child soldier. I mean, he was _only 15_ when the first series started _AND_ he would have been even _younger_ when he joined the Rebellion in the first place. In order to partake in this day I've written this chapter looking at Caleb specifically as a child soldier (yes, I did plan this chapter somewhat) and experience as a child in general during a rebellion/civil war. It also delves a little into Aldarn, another child soldier in this series.**

* * *

"I can't believe she ordered me out of the palace for the entire day."

Aldarn grinned. "Your girlfriend?"

"Elyon!" Caleb shot back. "But yes, her too."

"It was funny how you could not speak when she was ordering you out of the palace grounds so that she, the Queen and the other Guardians could set up your surprise."

"No it was not," Caleb said darkly. "And she didn't order me. And I _wasn't_ speechless."

The soon to be eighteen year old crossed his arms in annoyance. Somewhere nearby something was dripping with a consistent persistence, only adding to the green eyed youth's irritated mood.

"And I hate surprises," he added in a huff. If that huff spawned from a deeper anxiety at the unknown then the anxiety was well hidden.

"That is why we told you about it," Aldarn said in a too gleeful voice. "It was your father's main request that we not keep it hidden from you, although we did not have to tell you the specifics."

"So you have been sworn to secrecy?"

"No." Aldarn shrugged. "They thought it would be safer if they did not tell me anything about what they are doing to celebrate your coming into manhood."

 _Coming into manhood – how laughable._ The corner of Caleb's mouth twitched in a wry movement laden with cynicism and self-depreciation. In every way that mattered save age he had been an adult for years.

"There is no reason for any of this," the former rebel leader said.

Aldarn looked at him. "Why not?"

"Surely they can think of better things to do," Caleb answered brusquely. "The issue with those…rebels still needs to be dealt with and-"

"You are not supposed to be worry about anything related to your duty as commander today," his friend cut in. "On the Queen's orders, remember?"

Caleb folded his arms, sinking in on himself to sulk. "Elyon should not use her authority like that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not fair! She knows I have to listen and obey her."

"Because you _always_ take a break without being ordered to."

"What was that?" Caleb eyed his best friend suspiciously.

"You know," Aldarn said, deflecting. "If you had not have listened to the Queen, the Guardian of Water said she would persuade Vathek to sit on you until they were ready."

"But all day! I have things I need to do."

"Come on," his friend pleaded. "How often have we seen someone's day of birth be celebrated? And with Earth traditions too no less!"

Caleb looked at Aldarn before glancing away. It was a strange idea, birthdays. Or, more specifically, acknowledging birthdays in any manner beyond a friendly word from someone did not know the exact date just like everyone else.

Time had been more rough than accurate during the Rebellion; constant travelling, missions, hiding, imprisonment and escape had ensured that. Years had been calculated within weeks of error. Days had merely come into being with each rising sun. Some had attempted to mark the passage of time accurately and a few succeeded. The rest had given up out of despair or madness or to deny just how long they had been oppressed.

The result was a lack of knowledge to when events like one's day of birth was. Many times they had passed forgotten, more victims of Phobos' tyrannical rule. When they were remembered a few barrels of drink had been passed about for a subdued affair that pathetically tried to raise morale. Most of the time, however, only a word or two were passed between close friends and family, an embrace or a handshake the only gifts able to be given.

Caleb curled in on himself. He had been dragged to several parties during his travels to Earth. They had been loud and crowded and colourful and awe inducing. To a teenager raised in a climate were all such things usually brought trouble, if not death, it had been a jovial revelation of what he had missed and a sore reminder of what he could not have. Yet, he had at least had the chance to partake in a few. Aldarn had not even had that.

 _It is not fair._ But it seemed life never was.

"Are you alright?"

The brown haired youth closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall behind them. He had not slept well the past night, like he had failed to do so often. The few bouts of good sleep he had been granted seemed not only in the past, but to have never happened at all. Only bone-weary exhaustion seemed to cure his perchance for nightmares. Even that, however, could not cure the insomnia that had started to plague the ex-rebel too.

But the previous night had been worse than most.

 _Eighteen…_

A presence moved past them, unknown, a potential threat, and Caleb found he could not keep his eyes shut any longer.

 _Danger! Danger!_

The ex-rebel leader opened his eyes to see a woman passing with a bag of materials over her shoulder.

"Caleb?"

"What?"

Aldarn studied his friend for a moment before looking away. "Nothing."

There was a moment's lull, then-

"If I am to be banished from the palace all day I might as well look about the city," Caleb said as he suddenly stood. "It would not hurt to get an idea of how things are progressing and where any trouble might come up."

"The Queen said you were not to work today," Aldarn said skeptically.

"Of course not," the young commander replied. "It would just be a walk, nothing more. Surely she has nothing against that?"

"Uh huh."

Still, with no successful protest he could make, Aldarn could do nothing but stand and accompany his good friend wherever the latter chose to go. Caleb tweaked his lips in a small, unseen manner at his petty victory.

For a while the two wandered about aimlessly. Despite what he had said then denied with blatant insincerity, Caleb found that he could no more focus on the state of the streets they walked than he could banish the dreams of the previous night from his head.

 _A boy wincing in pain as the wooden stick rapped his knuckles but pushed back with his own all the same. A boy grunting in exertion as he hefted stones to build his strength. A boy cursing himself for not being fast enough, strong enough to save the woman he had accompanied to steal supplies._

All children of the Rebellion had learned to use a weapon, even the healers who stayed permanently stationed in the Infinite City. Better to be safe than captured was the motto that had spilt from their teachers' mouths, better to be captured than dead. And even then there had been arguments over which was indeed the better fate.

The green eyed youth inhaled and focused his gaze ahead of where he walked for all the good that it failed to do him.

 _A boy listening as he is told that he must learn to steal like the others from the false king and his men. A boy following the men to where they would hide in bushes by the side of the road. A boy questioning why the world made it so they had to steal in the first place as he waited for the cart to pass by._

As a Rebel no choice had existed regarding what activities he took part in, not if he wanted his comrades to live, his people to be free. It was do or die, do or be oppressed forever. No weight had been greater on his young mind.

Turning a corner, the young man inhaled again in a vain attempt to ease the burden of responsibility upon his shoulders.

 _A boy staring down at the bloody sword in his hand, wielded in defence and yet awful all the same. A boy drowning in corpses as he struggled to reunite with the group. A boy shaking in horror he tried to hide as stern voices belied pitying gazes all in an attempt to survive._

Caleb loosed a gasp then covered by sending a rock clattering along the ground. The sound distracted his friend enough to make the young Galhot forget the questions of concern that had been dancing upon his lips.

"Bet I can kick the next one further than you," Caleb challenged with an adequate disguise of friendly cockiness.

"Bet you are wrong," Aldarn quickly replied with a grin.

"We shall see."

"No cheating," the other broke in. "We both start at the same line and have one go each. No sabotaging."

Caleb flashed his teeth. His friend knew him too well. "Where is this starting line, then?"

"Here." Aldarn toed the crack between two cobblestones near a house's door.

"And here are the rocks," Caleb said bending to pick up two by his feet. "You can go first."

Aldarn shook his head. "No. You are the one who issued the challenge. Besides, it is your day of birth."

 _I am eighteen. I am a man._ It was not a pleasant thought.

A second later and the rock he was to kick went skipping along the street.

"Wow, that was pretty far," Aldarn remarked. "You almost made it halfway down the street."

Caleb said nothing. He merely stood back to allow his friend his turn. A clattering to the side of them drew the former rebel leader's attention.

Three boys were dashing along the street kicking their own rock like a ball being passed between them. It was an innocent thing developed by innocent minds seeking cheer in the late morning, something enough to memorise but not too complex that it would take half the day explaining the rules. Exclamations of simple pleasure echoed the noise of the moving rock.

The young commander glanced back to his friend then to the rock that he himself had kicked only moments before. What were they doing? Fulfilling a child's challenge for a child's game. It was not right.

The sound of stone skipping deliberately across stone echoed through the street.

"Well, it looks like you were right this time," came Aldarn's good-humoured voice. "I was only a roll short of yours too. Damn."

"Yeah."

They were not children. He was not one, not now and not before either.

 _Eighteen…_

Caleb felt like he had been alive for no less than a century.

"You should not cry on your birthday. It is not right."

"I am not crying," Caleb answered roughly. He felt the wetness on his cheeks all the same when he moved to brush it away.

"Good," Aldarn said with false humour. "Because I think the Guardians would all kill me if they thought I made you cry."

That wordless silence fell between the two once again. The three boys had followed their rock around the street's corner disappearing from sight. Their laughter, however, still echoed about the place like a curse. The childishly jovial sound seemed to mock Caleb with the jealous phrase 'look at what I have and you never had. Look! Look!'. It was like the times he had gone to Earth only to see children having fun where all he could do was struggle to survive.

 _Jealous of children – is that what it has come to? Aldarn's never even seen Earth and everything in it properly!_

The last thought was perhaps a blessing for his best friend. One could not miss what they did not know.

"What is it like being a man?" Aldarn asked from somewhere that seemed distant.

"Terrible."

The response was a little too genuine to be joking. Aldarn, however, took it in stride determined to do his duty of cheering the one beside him.

"I would not let Vathek hear you say that," the young Galhot replied. "Who knows what offence he would take to it? He does pride himself in being an adult- Well, compared to you in any case."

"I have been a man for most of my life, Aldarn." It was short, cutting and as accurate as those Earth machines that Earthlings punched numbers into to get more numbers. Caleb was in no mood for banter as friendly as it might be. "And almost every moment of it has been terrible."

Another pause fell abruptly on the pair, this one made up of the solemn acknowledgement of facts that could not be denied. Caleb closed his eyes and leaned back against a wall struggling to pull himself together, to gain control of the nightmarish memories racing through his head.

 _A boy turning his head in denial as he looked for a father who was not coming. A boy crying to himself where no one could see his weakness when reality was finally accepted. A boy longing for a warm embrace he could not receive whilst he laid in wait with sword in hand in freezing water for the next patrol to pass._

The former rebel shook his head. He had to get a grip on himself. Was he not fine? Was that not what he claimed as fact in the face of accusations pointing otherwise? Then why were slight tremours starting to run through his hands?

He wanted to apologise to Aldarn for dragging up such bleakness when his friend had been trying so hard to make him smile, to apologise for ruining what was a day his friend longed to celebrate as he never truly had before, but he could not. He was confused and depressed. He was tired from all his sleepless nights. As such, the weight was simply too great to lift off. It was too great to avoid, too deny and brush aside.

Yet, the youth could not give in, could not admit it. To do so was worse than terrible; his very mind revolted against the sheer vulnerability of it. So only emptiness was left and Caleb embraced it like the prodigal son embraced his family.

 _Eighteen and every year a curse._

But perhaps that was not fair to the flowers that those years had grown.

The young commander allowed his fingers to drift to the sprig of rosemary he kept in his pocket. As drained as he was, it was soothing to touch. He thought of her back at the palace, striding around with her purposeful step ensuring that everything met her taste and secretly worrying that he would not like it beneath her constant complaints. She was good to him, they all were, and he-

 _Eighteen._ The very word seemed like a curse.

Whilst Caleb and Aldarn had been lost in their own somber thoughts the street had gradually become more crowded. Now several groups of children dashed about adults' feet, happily careless of the trouble their antics might cause. The former rebel leader did not need to look at his friend's eyes to see the longing in them, the same envy that would be reflected in his own. He knew it would be there as clear as day. How could they not want the childhood they never had?

A group of girls had taken up place nearby the two teenagers. For a moment they talked in voices too fast to decipher before giggling and breaking out from their huddle. Then two came to stand a hand's length apart with the others watching on in anticipation. Another moment passed and the pair began to clap their hands together, allowing time for a steady beat to settle before opening their mouths in a sing-song chant.

"There is a ghost with a grisly scar

Who lurks in shadows near and far.

They say he was a Rebel friend

Who brought the Tyrant King to end.

Shy Hart, Shy Hart is his name

And we call his ghost to our game."

The verse, once ended, was quickly taken up again with the carefree children repeating their rhythmic claps.

"There is a ghost with a grisly scar

Who lurks in shadows near and far.

They say he guards each lonely walk

From things that hunt and prey and stalk.

Shy Hart, Shy Hart is his name

And we call his ghost to our game."

"I do not think we ever played games when we were small."

Caleb cocked his head towards his best friend as the children continued to happily clap and chant before them.

"At least not that I remember," Aldarn continued.

"I think we tried," Caleb said. The hazy memory of playing hide and seek with their fathers grimly encouraging them merged with the clearer image of two boys determinedly crossing swords so they could learn to fight like adults.

For a moment neither of them spoke. They watched the playing children dance about, never ceasing in their clapping. A new verse had been taken up just as enthusiastically as the first.

"There is a ghost with a grisly scar

Who lurks in shadows near and far.

They say he visits each ruined home

To rebuild walls from wood and loam.

Shy Hart, Shy Hart is his name

And we call his ghost to our game."

Aldarn stirred as the sequence started once again.

"There is a ghost with a grisly scar

Who lurks in shadows near and far…"

"We should continue walking," he said.

Caleb merely nodded in agreement. Once more he had been beset by the scenes that had plagued his previous night.

 _A boy accepting the position offered even as his adamantine shoulders seemed to bow further under the added responsibilities. A boy realising he had made a mistake, a very bad mistake in letting the snake chase him to the hideout. A boy swimming in a sea of red as the snake laughed and laughed above him at the demines of all those he was supposed to lead._

 _It was not real, not in the slightest, but that was a fact lost in the red sea. It was his fault that they were dead. His fault that they had been ripped apart. His fault that the Rebellion had failed. A boy knew it was his fault and his fault alone-_

"Shy Hart, Shy Hart is his name

And we call his ghost to our game.

"There is a ghost with a grisly scar…"

The innocent chanting drifted away into the distance as Caleb followed his friend. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the last dregs of his nightmare from his mind so that he could at least try to appreciate the day untainted by its grimness. At the very least he owed it to Aldarn and the others who were putting their efforts into acknowledging his official transition into manhood.

It did not help that there were now children everywhere doing things he could have only dreamed of doing at the same age.

A little used square near the edge of the city was the next place that Caleb and Aldarn halted in. Some round thing that Caleb supposed to be a ball had come flying out of seemingly nowhere and, instinctively, he had caught it right before it smacked him in the head.

 _Danger! Danger!_

But it was merely a group of children with dirt stains on their knees and more than a few bruises from rough playing who had stopped before him. Without saying anything, Caleb gave them back their ball.

"That was a good catch." It was one of the older children who had spoken.

"…Thanks."

The ex-rebel leader stared at the little faces below him. Aldarn stood by his side just as silently, watching to see what would happen. An uncomfortable knot was forming in the former's stomach. He did not think he was any good with children outside of teaching them how to survive.

"Do you want to play?"

The question took Caleb off guard as did the notion of playing. "Why?"

The word came out before he could stop it. He could not help himself. If he or Aldarn had ever played in the past, it was because it would help them and the Rebellion to live past Phobos' oppressive reign. What did these children know of that struggle? Had they too been forced to take up weapons in favour of dolls and balls?

And suddenly Caleb found himself anticipating their answer.

Giggling, however, was not what he expected.

"Because, silly," a girl sang from the back. It was exactly the answer a child would give.

Caleb blinked at the children before him.

Each stared up at the weary soldier, eyes bright and smiles wide and innocent hope shinning from their faces – hope, so shadowed once before under a tyrant's distant rule, that now tentatively refused to be stopped from growing with each passing day in this paradise. Hands reached to tug, but stayed their distance. Eyes continued staring, shinning, hoping.

Caleb smiled. It was a small, soft thing.

The tiny hands reached out once more and tugged him forward. They tugged Aldarn too, taking the acceptance of one as the acceptance of the other. Neither friend refused the laughing children.

"Your too big to be runners. That's what we are and we're the best!"

"Yeah! We always get victray over the other teams."

"It's victory."

"Shut up!"

The chorus of voices was halfway to defeating with the enthusiasm that shouted over the top of one another. Childish arguments and instructions all melded together into one big heap of fast paced words that Caleb found it hard to keep track of.

"You can guard the goals."

"Don't let anythin' in."

"Unless it's a girl kicking."

"You've got to let a girl's goal in or otherwise they'll get all mad and tell."

"Do not," came a shrill voice near the back of the group. Several more clamoured in agreement.

"Do too," the boy who had last spoken said.

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Alright," Aldarn said with a grin. "Where are the goals?"

"Here!"

"You can't move outside of them."

"You can guard the other one," said the child who still had Caleb's hand. "Make sure you don't let the ball in!"

"Unless it's a girl kickin'."

The young commander grinned at his friend. "Does this remind you of that 'game' Drake invented for training?"

"The one where he would fling sticks at both of us while only one of us had a weapon to deflect them," Aldarn laughed. "I think you almost hit his eye once returning one."

"For coming up with a game like that he deserved it," Caleb half-shouted from where he now stood across the makeshift field.

"I'll remember to tell him that when we get back. Maybe he'll sing you a song in apology!"

Despite shuddering at the mild threat of facing Drake's stark inability to play the lute, Caleb grinned a little wider.

 _A boy wishing it was different but knowing what he had to do to keep the others safe. A boy defiantly staring his enemies down despite being trapped in their sadistic clutches. A boy swearing to never show his fear no matter what they said or did, for fear meant losing control and losing what little control he had was something he could not afford._

The memories circled the young man's head like all the other vulture-like thoughts before it. They were mentally crippling as much as anything could be; his nightmares had been plagued by them for a reason. Standing in the makeshift goal the ex-rebel was almost crushed beneath that weight.

But things like that did not seem to matter to the children around him who had been through the same war. Caleb could only wonder why that was.

 _Eighteen. I am eighteen today._

He was truly no longer a child, if he had ever been one at all. Yet, for now, as he silently challenged his best friend to see who could catch the most goals, there was surely no harm in pretending.

* * *

 **Not how I was originally going to write it, but I think it turned out alright. I didn't feel like delving into the actual celebration of his 18th/transition into official manhood, so it's not here. That said, I felt him turning 18 and confronting being called a man vs the responsibilities he had before as technical child would be a good setting to explore this particular theme today.**

 **This is also partially a response to AliveInNeverland95 asking if I would write more about Caleb's childhood (which I have here, so I hope that you enjoyed it). I also took some inspiration from WITCHFan's request about Aldarn and Caleb discussing their lack of childhood (thanks for your reviews by the way, and pointing out Caleb has green eyes. I never really noticed and some pictures make him look like he has brown. Ah well. As to your other suggestion, I'll see what I can do although I make no promises).**

 **The next chapter, whenever I get it up (which will likely be a while) will contain Matt (fulfilling multiple suggestions/prompts from you guys regarding him) and Blunk.**

 **Please leave a review if you are so inclined. I love getting them.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any shape or form.**

 **Note: this is based off the cartoon series.**

 **So, guess who's not dead? And no, it's not one of the character's I may have decided to kill off… (Okay, not that cruel, but hey, give a guy a break… ;). Anyway, I was going make this a chapter with Matt as has been requested by a few of you but I've got a few questions first – see the end for more. Also, sorry if the quality is a bit rough. Haven't written this for a while. Other than that, enjoy.**

* * *

He was dead tired, even he could admit that (albeit with a shiver at the wording). His eyes just would not allow themselves to stay shut.

Or, more accurately, his mind refused to sink into simple repose.

 _Blasted upstarts. Blasted Cedric. Blasted everything._

One trouble after the other seemed to just keep coming, scorning the very word of sleep as if such a thing should never exist. Caleb was just thankful that his nightmares had all but halted. He was still thankful, even when he had realised said halting was simply because he had been unable to get anything more than a ten-minute nap every five hours over the past few days.

For all his father's and his friends' and his Queen's concern, this lack of sleep was not because the young commander was neglecting himself. Nor was he avoiding sleep – at this point Caleb would make himself Irma's slave forever if he could get his hands on a solid, untainted hour of the stuff. Rather, he had simply not had the time. And every time he finally managed to find it, some other trouble had cropped up needing his immediate attention.

The upstarts (the youth had been avoiding calling them rebels where he could without giving away the clear discomfort the parallel caused him; the other times when it was unavoidable he had quickly called upon a well-used and trusted mask to hide all feelings save those of a concerned leader) were growing more restless. More than likely the restlessness would lead to a skirmish and they needed to be prepared, both to protect the Queen and the people. No one needed to go through another war. So many people had grown so sick of the second with… _her_ and then Phobos and then Cedric that some had sought an end another way.

Caleb had sworn to himself to never follow such a path. Yet, he could not condemn those who had for theirs were the guts that it took to pull themselves from the same thing that kept sucking him back in. The same thing that kept haunting his sleep and the sleep of other former rebels. A cursed thing for sure that belonged in no Paradise.

Yet, with upstarts and confusion lingering on the edges of his mind, Caleb would not confidently call the life he was now living a Paradise as he had refused so often before. Paradises could and had fallen - he had witnessed it. He had lived it and survived it. Many others had not. The graves of the ones they could find, the ones they could remember had turned parts of Meridian into tombs.

The youth sighed and rubbed his face.

All he wanted to do was sleep. What was so hard about that?

It did not help that the rosemary growing on his windowsill merely made him 'sick with love' as Vathek had mocked and Drake laughed only that morning. He hadn't seen the one whom he regarded the most beautiful flower in existence for several weeks, busy and on separate worlds as they both were. Not her flowing cornfield hair. Not her enchanting laugh. Not her smile. Not her voice. Not even the tremors in the earth that occurred when she grew mad. Only the rosemary shared a part of her with him, and every time he breathed in the sharp, homely scent he remembered and missed her.

Perhaps he would be able to sleep if she were by his side. She was certainly more than capable of scaring off anyone who would have disturbed him.

But such thoughts were selfish and Caleb would rather such a beautiful flower away from trouble than near him. Even if he knew the flower could take care of himself, and him too on occasion.

Caleb turned on his bed, choosing to face his door instead of the plant swaying softly in the breeze that stirred through his open window.

A moment later and prickling on the back of his neck made him turn back to face it. A moment after that and the eighteen-year-old got up and shut the offending glass.

Settling back on his bed, the young commander ran both hands through his tussled hair. Now he had the time to sleep. Elyon had all but ordered it, declaring with his father's approval that any discussions about the situation in Meridian could wait until the morning. That had been hours ago, however, and Caleb was no closer to sleeping now than he had been then.

He blinked at his shoeless feet, halfheartedly hoping that the boring sight of the unwounded appendages would send his mind to sleep. He had no such luck.

 _Why can't I sleep?_ He rubbed his eyes. _Damn! Why can't I sleep?_

But the cry never left his lips. They were too tired to break the eerie silence now.

Suddenly restless, Caleb shot up and strode to his door. A pause was all it took before he wrenched it open, sending one last glance behind him and a wary look around in front before he stepped into the shadowed halls.

The path was a familiar one to him, even in his aimless wandering. The dark rooms of the castle always were more so than the ones cast in light: shadows had just about been his birthright after all, his entire childhood and the nurturer of his skills. Perhaps he would never be so comfortable walking in the light where he could be seen, spied, caught and-

The ex-rebel leader focused on the statues that lined the lengthy walls. Each stood as a peculiar but tasteful figure: damsels and knights and mothers and kings. Several of Elyon had also been made and showcased, more a tribute to the artists' skills than any indulgence in their latest Queen's ego. The girl was no Phobos after all, a fact for which thousands were grateful.

 _Maybe if I count these statues instead of sheep…_

It was a wishful notion. And a foolish one if he were honest. Sleep was never so easy no matter how much Blunk and Irma made it seem on occasion. Sleep had never been an easy thing.

Flashes of memory, fragmented and young, rushed through the former rebel's head. Glimpses of men and women with blood gushing down their faces. Guards with horrific snarls on their equally horrific mugs. Closed spaces. Chained hands. Bound feet as his sunk to the bottom of a river. All nightmarish material. All material a little too real to be a nightmare.

 _This isn't helping._

Shaking hands ran through brown hair once more before clenching into stubborn fists. The quiet slap of bare feet was muffled by the thick carpets Elyon had run down the length of each hall. The material was soft, comfortable beneath Caleb's feet and if his eyes had been any more cooperative he would have laid down and slept atop it. Even if his discovery by anyone not Blunk or several of the younger maids annoyingly enamored with him (and _that_ he still had to find a way to tell the one he was enamored with about) would have seen him banished to his room for the rest of the week.

The youth grunted. The shadows dancing upon the walls, mocking him in more ways than one strictly related to his inability to sleep, were doing nothing to improve his mood.

This was not the first time he had been up and about at night, wandering the palace as surely as the guards he sometimes trailed. To their credit, most noticed him after the ten minute mark (he rarely tried his hardest to disappear at such times for he was still trying to train himself out of the habit whenever he was within the palace walls). Aldarn somehow could always tell when he was about. Vathek and Drake, on the other hand, had a lot to learn about how quiet his 'loud mouth' could be.

His father was entirely different. The man never let on that he knew his son was skulking about, but his son knew he knew. In some strange way that knowledge was comforting.

 _Perhaps we should go fishing again,_ the youth thought absently. _Minus Drake's lute._

It had been a while since the two could really sit down and just be together without duties pulling on their minds. The former rebel leader never remembered ever doing so whilst under Phobos' rule. Perhaps he remembered longing for it, but if so than it had been drowned out by other more prominent emotions like fear and anger.

Caleb scuffed his foot along the floor, glancing about him as the soldier within was wont to do. Then he paused. By sheer luck his sleepless wanderings had taken him straight to his father's room.

The pause grew longer as the young commander debated what to do. His father was likely asleep; the palace was as good as dead at this time of night (a thought that was not a comforting one). Something inside him wanted to go in, to check on his father and ensure the man was fine. To make sure that he was still there, a doubt that still struck the foolish child in Caleb's heart and shamed him to no end.

Another part of him hoped that the man was asleep, that a peaceful repose had blessed him as it had failed to bless his son that night. After everything the man had been through – the rise and rule of a tyrant, a budding Rebellion and dashed hopes, a false love, capture and slavery, betrayal and fallen Paradises; things Caleb didn't even want to think of happening to his father – he deserved to rest in peace. He deserved to not be woken or disturbed by the trivial problems of his son whose experience was nothing compared to his.

But another, more selfish and hidden part of the youth dared hope the man was awake. Caleb didn't know why. He refused to believe that it was due to a need to be comforted like babe for a problem he shouldn't even have, a leader, a _commander_ as he was. Maybe, then, he had simply grown used to his father's presence once more, the quiet moments they could spend together in this apparent Paradise.

The eighteen-year-old bit his lip in thought. Maybe he was becoming accustom to that part of this fragile peace. A peace that was already breaking apart once more.

 _Or maybe I'm overthinking things that didn't need overthinking._ It was not a raid he was planning. Not a scouting party or the rotation for those guarding the Queen. His father didn't need to be disturbed by him.

The closed door loomed in front of Caleb, dark and ominous. Something swirled in his gut, familiar and stressful. _I should go in, just to be sure…_

It only took a hand on the doorknob to enter. His father hadn't even locked the door.

Caleb didn't know whether to be furious or worried.

Red filled his vision as he stepped into the room, scarlet and coppery and wrong. For a moment it was all he could breath, all he could feel against his skin despite nothing being there. Blood had always been the worst of the fighting, the blood of others more than his own, the blood of those he had led to their doom. And now it was all he could see and smell and fell in his father's room.

Distantly, the former rebel wondered if he had stopped breathing or if he was simply breathing too fast for any air to make it in.

Yet, the feel of blood overrode everything. Even that distant alarm in his head that was making his hands shake like an earthquake. He couldn't think. He couldn't move.

Caleb's mouth opened like a gasping fish.

Then he seemed to return to the world as a single clear thought rung in his head like a bell.

"Father!"

Dashing madly to where the bed was situated, Caleb frantically glanced over the figure lying in it then breathed in relief. He could still feel blood, faint scratches on the palms of his hands dribbling the stuff in an absentminded way, but the torrent from before was gone. None of it was on his father who was still there, still breathing, still _alive._

The eighteen-year-old could have sobbed.

But all was not at peace in the room. While his father was still breathing, sweat beaded his brow which was furrowed as deep as it could go. A groan fell from the man's lips, not so much pained as it was anguished. Another groan quickly followed and Julian thrashed in his sheets.

He was clearly caught in the grips of a bad dream.

Caleb didn't know what to do. It wasn't that he had never seen his father ridden by nightmares before; the years spent as a boy clinging to his father during a war, of sharing rooms in strongholds, of sleeping in places most sane people would avoid had ensured that neither could hide anything about how they slept. Even if they did deny such things when they woke up.

Instead, the issue lay with how to wake a former rebel and slave from a restless sleep. Caleb knew he had given several comrades a black eye during the Rebellion when he had been pulled from a vicious nightmare, mainly Drake because Drake was the only one brave (or stupid) enough to shake him awake. Even Aldarn had usually resorted to throwing things at him in place of using how own two hands. Those moments had never been good. Caleb had felt like he had failed his own fellow rebels, his own cause because of a weakness he couldn't control.

But this was not Caleb, it was his father and his father was clearly distressed.

Words frozen in his throat, Caleb simply shook his father awake.

"Gah!" Suddenly lurching forward, Julian's wide eyes shot everywhere: the door, the walls, his own bed and sheets. Finally, they settled on the pale face of his son where he had leapt back in something akin to fright.

All it took was a father's hand to cup the youth's cheek to steady its trembling.

The dream had been a bad one for Julian, even by a nightmare's typical standards. But it had also been a common one, one that had haunted him through the years as it had haunted every parent in the Rebellion whose child had taken up the fight. Even more so now for his own child had never relinquished that fight and maybe never would.

With another shaking gasp of air, the man pulled his kneeling son's forehead to his own.

Caleb, in turn, wanted to speak; his mouth moved like it was trying to form words. Yet, no sound came out. It was as though they had been stolen from him.

To see this man, his father, his idol for years and years even when he had been captured and enslaved, reduced to something like-

Like him at his worst.

Caleb's fingers sought his palms once again, this time in self-directed anger and anger directed to the forces that had reduced them to this. His father was supposed to be better than him, more able, above the ruin that war and rebellion brings. And maybe it was naïve of him to believe this – maybe it had been naïve of him to ever have believed it – but this was his father. If he couldn't defeat his demons, than what hope did his son have?

And Caleb's fingers slackened, not out of any conscious will of his own, but from the will of a sudden, crushing despair. He did not know how to help his father; he didn't even know how to help himself.

But Caleb had no wish to examine himself tonight (nor any night it was asked of him by friend or Queen or father). Instead he returned his focus to his father, watching him a moment further.

At the same time, his father watched him back.

Julian appraised the youth in front of him as his heart steadied to its regular beat, studying every inch of his son's being. The dark circles under his eyes were noted. The tussled hair appraised. The drawn and haggard look that had descended upon his face heavily in the last hours was regarded with care. Yet, for once, the father in him ignored the concern that came with such appearances. He had been afraid, even if it was in sleep alone, and now he wanted to simply revel in the relief that waking had brought him.

A toppled head was a toppled head, a horrific thing, but the head in front of him was securely attached. He would do anything to keep it that way, no matter how unrealistic the notion was. They were at peace, even with the upstarts. Perhaps that peace could last.

Or perhaps that peace would crumble into nothing as it had before. But come what may, the bearded man could not care less so long as his son was in front of him and whole.

The young commander shifted before him, looking up at the older man with wide eyes shining with concern and a fear he would no doubt deny if it were brought up. They seemed to be asking a question in their green depths, seeking an answer to a word the ex-slave had use over and over with him.

Yet, Julian said nothing, just sat there as he roughly drew his son into his arms continuing to wonder and revel in the fact Caleb was still alive, still _there_. For once the man did not worry about the tension that came with such an abrupt movement despite the youth's attempts to curb it. For once old thoughts did not linger on the now or the past or any future they might have had. The man simply focused on them being.

There were no words. There was just breathing and being, just rapid breaths slowing and racing hearts fading. The air seemed to hum with a sort of electric adrenaline more primal than even that stirred by a battle to the death, but still there were no words. In that moment there was no need.

* * *

 **Alright, firstly I hope you enjoyed this. It turned out longer than I thought it would, mainly because I got a bit carried away with a certain panic attack and suggestions of what it might have been triggered by… (sorry about that, if I made you think a certain someone was dead. Completely unintentional – kind of just happened).**

 **Secondly, apologies for the long update but university (and my own original writing now that I've got some time) kinda takes priority over this. Plus I had a couple of ideas for other fandoms that I really needed to get out of my head. However, this is just a short spell of rain in the drought so to speak – I am on a mid-session break for a week which is why I had time to write this. However, university is not over yet so I will unlikely be able to write anymore for at least another month. So bear with me, please!**

 **Thirdly, I know this one didn't really have what appears to be your favourite lovebirds (and mine) in it. The next few probably won't or it will only be a minor appearance unless someone gives me a spectacular suggestion. That said, the next chapter is going to have Matt BUT I need information:**

 ** _1\. Do Matt's parents know about his powers/etc._**

 ** _2\. Matt ended up with Will, didn't he? (sorry, can't remember exactly)_**

 ** _3\. Any other details you think are important, please fill me in on_**

 **If any of you could answer one or more of these in a review or PM, I would be most grateful! In plain terms, the longer it takes me to figure this out the longer the next chapter will be on top of university time out from writing this. Not a threat, just a fact. I'm kind of stumped here. :-/**

 **Fourthly, I'm running low on ideas at the moment for chapters. I have one or two backlogged aside from the Matt chapter and I think I can probably develop some if I take the time to, which I don't have right now. If you guys, however, have anything you want to see me write just leave it in a review or PM me. I can't guarantee that I will write it, but more often than not it'll probably turn up in some way. Just a few notes, however: no OCs unless they are minor, only canon ships, please no stark repetitions of anything I've already written (within reason – you can suggest content for another nightmare, or another panic attack with someone), and it needs to be related to this story specifically to be published in this story (i.e. Caleb's PTSD). That said, if you have something unrelated still mention it – I may write and post it separately.**

 **Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favourited this story so far and thanks for your patience!**

 **Please leave a review if you feel so inclined – I love receiving them!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any shape or form.**

 **Note: this is based off the cartoon series.**

 **Guess whose not dead! Also guess whose a bag fanfic updater at least... Sorry about that. I was going to try and update again before the new year but that didn't happen... I also don't think I thank you guys enough for reviewing - I love hearing your thoughts about this and ideas for more chapters, and I really appreciate the acknowledgement!**

 **To make amends, this is a chapter many of you have asked about that I finally got around to writing. Not overly CXC based (although perhaps I've bent to your will and added a touch in here and there... ;) but definitely Matt based. It's a bit rough too. But I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The sky was as blue as it had never been during the Rebellion. Blunk was snoring contentedly beside him away from the wretched waters of the pool. On his other side Matt had splayed himself haphazardly across one of the pool lounges dangling one foot lazily in the water. Caleb sighed in almost contentment. The sky was blue. That was all that mattered.

 _But is it still blue back in Meridian?_

Suddenly restless, the young commander sat up.

"Everything alright, man?" Matt's voice was as lazy as the rest of him.

"Yeah…"

His Earth friend rolled over. "You don't sound so convinced there."

For a moment Caleb considered bailing on the conversation and visit in general. He had duties to attend to back at home, those upstarts still causing problems and drawing closer to the capital. There was a Queen to deal with too, namely through a stern reminder that she shouldn't grant (really, it had been an order upon hearing Will recount Matt's invitation) her higher-ranked guards 'holidays' when the land was on the cusp of something that could be a little bit bigger than a catastrophe. Then there was his father-

The youth's eyes drifted to the blue sky once more and settled there.

"Can't believe it's been like that all day. The weather man said it'd rain, but then again when are they ever right?" Matt glanced over and in just as conversational a tone continued. "What are you thinking about?"

He took a moment to draw up his courage, somehow a harder thing to do now than when he had faced his own- Caleb closed his eyes. "Do your parents ever get nightmares?"

Matt blinked. "Huh. I wouldn't know. I guess they would have when they were younger, but I've never seen them." He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. "Nah, man. In this family it's me who gets all the bad dreams."

Caleb wasn't sure what to say to that, what he could say without revealing his own well-hidden vulnerabilities, so he stayed silent.

"It sucks you know, them not knowing." But it seemed Matt had no qualms on pouring out his own heart. "I woke up screaming several nights ago and my dad rushed in to wake me up. He asked what it was about, but how could I tell him? I mean, I guess I could say that I was dreaming about a giant snake eating me and being turned into a puppet… But then my parents would think I was watching inappropriate movies and I'd be grounded. Ugh."

The teenager slapped his hands on his face, rubbing them down its length in an exaggerated manner. His mind seemed as wound up as the string balls children had played with in the streets of poverty while a despot was king.

To be turned against your friends was a particular horror that Caleb was glad he had never endured. Aldarn had frequent nightmares still of when he had challenged Caleb's leadership under Phobos' trickery, had more than once woken him where he slept to ensure he hadn't run his sword through his best friend. Now that the war was ended, those same nightmares had seemed to recede. Almost vanished even. Yet, Caleb was sure they were still there (just as his always were; just like his father's were), lingering beneath the surface of consciousness and waiting to pounce…

No sky could remain blue forever.

"You must find me annoying, I mean you lived in that world practically all your life and your mum-" Matt cut himself off abruptly, perhaps because he realised his misstep with the way Blunk was suddenly waving his hands in earnest.

But it was already too late.

It wasn't a wince that crossed Caleb's face at the mention of _that_ word; an avalanche of horror and loathing and hurt (and fear, though even now that the ex-rebel ignored) cascaded over his features. Desperately the youth tried to shove it back down, tried to lock it away where he had been keeping it, been denying its existence like one would a terminal illness they wished would go away. His entire life was a nightmare, but that, _her_ -

"Shit! I'm sorry. Caleb, I'm sorry. It just slipped out."

"Quiet!" came Blunk's suddenly sharp voice.

Caleb ignored them both, couldn't do anything but. The onslaught was almost unbearable, threatening to wreck every dam he had put up against everything bad inside his head. And beyond that cascade of emotions was confusion, overwhelming confusion about things he dared not try to breach.

Only a few seconds had passed since that word had been uttered – not even a full minute. The hysteria that was rapidly swelling inside Caleb was quickly cut off by none other than the scent of rosemary, the plant she had gifted him when the world had not seemed like the world at all.

 _Remember._

Never had he been so grateful that Matt's parents grew the plant. Nor had he been so grateful that Blunk had taken to rolling in it the minute they had arrived so its sharp scent was all over his skin, including the hands he had been reaching towards Caleb.

The commander brushed off the passling, a quick look sent to show his appreciation nonetheless for his friend's concern. For a while the three males simply breathed, not daring to test the air before them. Caleb's fingers brushed at his palms absently.

"You alright?" Matt finally dared.

Something fell into the pool in front of them and Caleb watched the resulting ripples gradually spread then fade.

"What are you going to do about your nightmares?" he finally asked.

"Hmm? Oh! Mine?" For a moment Matt looked like he was going to say something else, but he seemed to quickly switch the words waiting on his tongue for others. "I don't know."

Caleb threw himself back onto the pool longue. Anything to keep his face out of view and the focus off him. "Is there anyone you could talk to about them?"

"You?" A question that was more tentative than Caleb would have liked. It sent a wash of shame over him.

He closed his eyes. "Sure. If you want. What do you dream about…man?"

Earth lingo was still strange, no matter how often Caleb had visited and he figured it always would be. Still, it was a good idea to become as fluent as possible in it – one never knew when such knowledge would be needed and useful (even the oddest, smallest scrap of information had been useful during the Rebellion). Besides, those former rebels who had been from different parts of Meridian and spoke in a differing tongue had often been most comforted by the use of that tongue. Perhaps Matt would be the same.

"You sure you want to-"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

"Okay…" The other boy took a breath, steadying himself and acknowledging the warning look Blunk sent about watching his words. Matt swallowed. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "Well, the latest dream I had was- It, well, ended with me tearing off Will's wings from when she is in Guardian form or whatever it's called." When Caleb made no comment, harsh or otherwise, he continued. "I was observing everything like a king of out-of-body experience, but I could feel everything the dream-me was feeling. That was the worst of it, I think."

"How so?"

Matt shuddered. "The dream-me was… He was _happy._ Proud, like he had done something good that deserved a reward. And the _hate_. There was just so much of it! I still feel like there's too much of it in me, even now, and it scares me. What I _did_ when I was Sharon, driven by hate…"

For a moment it seemed that the teenager would be lost in his own memories and fears, too caught up in what he had been and had done to ground himself in the present.

"I can't even bring myself to say I dislike something, you know?" he admitted. "It feels too close to hating something. Not helpful when I don't want to eat some of the dishes my mum likes to try – she thinks I like everything now!"

He laughed and Caleb did too, the nervous sort of laughter that passed itself off as a poor copy of the real thing. Blunk looked at the both of them like they were mad. (Sometimes Caleb wondered if he was and if blue skies were simply a dream.)

"Don't know what to do about the dream though," Matt said. "I mean, work through it I guess.

"Everyone gets dreams," Caleb replied. "During the Rebellion even the most hardened of men would sometimes have to be woken from the terrors in their heads." A pause, then as though he were swallowing something bitter: "It is alright to be afraid."

It did not matter if he thought it a lie himself, words his father uttered in well-intentioned meaning heedless of the burdens that ensured his advice could never be, but here, with Matt, they could perhaps provide some semblance of comfort. The phrase did seem like some inane thing that those of Earth would mumble to each other, would cry into each other's arms in the boxes with moving pictures (televisions they were called).

Caleb bit his lip, anxious, and exhaled when Matt gave him a small smile.

"Yeah," the boy said.

It was clear the Earth inhabitant had not thrown every shadow in his head into the unforgiving light. Perhaps he never would (for were shadows not meant to stay in the shadows, on the edge of things where they caused the least harm and went unnoticed by all but the most observant? It was a safe place for them, just as the shadows were a haven for the young spy trying to avoid detection). Yet, from the shadows he had let glimpse the sun of another's awareness, the teenager seemed a little better than he had before. Worry lines a little less prominent and face a little more relaxed. As though a weight had been taken from his shoulders instead of thrown on there alongside the rest of the weights some teenagers were made to carry.

The words had done some good, a lie as though they were.

"Thanks, man. You're a good friend." Matt laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "Can't tell any of this to Will. It's not that she wouldn't understand, but she still feels so guilty over the Sharon thing… I don't want to add to that, you know?"

Caleb nodded mutely.

"What about other girls?" Blunk asked. "They not help?"

Matt rubbed his head again. "I guess they could…"

"Nice girl and water girl help Blunk when Blunk needs to say things. Matt talk to them?"

"I can ask."

"You should," Caleb said. If a little part of him screamed 'hypocrite' then he ignored it. Matt was not a former rebel leader, was not a commander, was not responsible for the safety of an unstable world – he could afford to talk. "Hay Lin's grandmother knows about everything, so you could talk to her too."

He remembered the conversations he had with the old woman when he was sleeping at Hay Lin's during the Rebellion, brief though those conversations often were. The world had always seemed a little less heavy afterwards.

Matt stretched, wriggling his toes and fingers as he did so. He flopped onto his side and yawned because it was something to do instead of answering. Blunk had settled back in his own seat and was mimicking the Earth boy's much to his best friend's amusement. The passling was too slow to avoid detection when Matt spun back around.

For a short while Caleb watched as his two friends chased each other around the pool, Blunk steering expertly clear of the water. Yet the sky was blue and the day was getting hotter as it approached noon – near the time when others would be arriving – and both human and passling flopped themselves back down on their seats, both panting.

Green eyes found themselves staring at the sky once more.

"What would you do if they did?"

"Huh?"

Caleb swallowed. "Your parents. If they got nightmares, what would you do?"

Matt sat up again, more fully this time as he planted his feet on the ground. The look he gave his visitor was scrutinising to say the least. "You right, man? It's just that something seems to be on _your_ mind."

 _What isn't?_ But Caleb said nothing of the sort. Everything had always been on his mind since he was old enough to understand why his father carrier a sword and not a farmer's hoe or shoemaker's hammer. He had learned not to complain, to keep the worries to himself. How could he complain when so many others had looked up to him, leaned on him, expected things from him that they could not do themselves?

So instead he shrugged, brushed off the moment and his question with a grin. "Never mind. Just thinking too much, but I'm supposed to be on vacation so that's enough of that!"

His friend eyed him skeptically and even Blunk raised his forehead in disbelief. Ignoring them both, Caleb rose to his feet and stretched. He sent a wicked grin the way of his oldest – and most pungent – friend there.

"How about a swim?" he asked. "I'll even throw you in!"

Blunk cried out from where he was lazing on a pool chair. His fur covered hands gripped it like it was the only thing keeping him clinging to life. "No! No! Caleb not be so cruel! Blunk not swim. Blunk not swim. Blunk not know how!"

"You can learn," Caleb replied. "Come on. It will be fun."

"No, no, no! Caleb swim if Caleb wants to. Blunk will stay dry and dirty. Not clean. Ugh. Never clean." A judging look was sent towards the young commander. "Caleb strange to want to be clean and wet when could be dirty and dry."

"Because _he's_ the strange one here," Matt laughed.

The passling grumbled and rolled over so his back faced the two humans. The gesture only made them laugh harder and they were not the only ones. Several other voices joined in as they approached from a distance.

Suddenly inexplicably carefree, Caleb strode to the edge of the pool's deep end and stood with his arms stretched wide. He shot a look to Matt's grinning face and prepared to launch himself into the water with all the grace of a teenage boy who loved the thrill of adrenaline and excitement of the supposed danger. The youth made a show of tilting his head up and sniffing at the air as though determining if the wind was blowing just right. A wide grin split his own face in two, almost as unfamiliar as it was welcome.

In the end, it was the scent of flowers that got him first. But not before he hooked an arm around her slender waist and dragged her squealing in with his falling body.

" _Caleb!_ "

"That's what you get, sister, when you sneak up on the king of hand-to-hand combat!" Irma high-fived her favourite Meridian Commander as she jumped over him into the pool. There was no doubt that she had used a least a little of her power to make the resulting splash as big as it was.

Meanwhile the dripping flower had hauled herself out of the water and onto the concrete ledge. Cornfield hair tried to swing itself in the breeze, but its usual grace and majesty was dampened by its waterlogged state. Long legs made ripples where they moved, almost as entrancing as her eyes had been when Caleb had first glimpsed them (as they still were and would forever be so long as he could still see). Back and forth they moved, pillars of grace and strength. Back and forth, like they were still dancing at the festival they had danced at all those long months before.

"What are you looking at?" she asked him in the way only she could.

Without thinking, Caleb ducked beneath the water and pressed a chaste kiss to each of his flower's ankle.

"Oooo, someone's in love!"

"I think we got that message the first time they saw each other, Irma," Will snarked from where she had sat at her own boyfriend's feet.

Caleb ignored them both, gazing up into depths so blue (a different blue to the sky, a better one) and pure, so understanding of every turmoil inside of him, and found adoration reflected at him. Sweet lips quirked in amusement at his antics. Two slender hands dipped into the water to grab his face and pull him up to air as they always had when it seemed like he was drowning. Then she kissed him and for once he was content with his life, the world and everything in it.

"Leave me alone, I want to tan," came that entrancing voice. "Go bug Irma if you want to fool around."

"Hmmm," Caleb hummed in reply. There was little else his fumbling tongue could say in the wake of the contentment that crashed through his head.

A kick off the pool wall and the youth cannoned straight into the Water Guardian who was splashing around with the will and grace of a rhino. (Taranee had made him watch a documentary once. They were fascinating creatures.) Like two old veterans who had trained together in the same camp, stood together in the same bunker, and survived together many an impossible situation, the pair proceeded to tackle each other into the water. For all Irma's advantage in aquatic environments, it was Caleb who succeeded most of the time.

"I'm beginning to think you're part fish, lover-boy," the feisty girl said.

A sound of disgust came from where the sun's rays draped over the yard. "Ew."

"You'd still kiss him if he were a fish," Irma called back. "So long as he had the same eyes – what was it you told me? Something about how soulful his eyes looked and that you could stare into them until the-"

" _Irma!_ "

But it was too late. Will and Matt had already succumbed to laughter and were catcalling from where they sat over the top of Blunk's snoring.

Some part of Caleb argued that he should leap to his girlfriend's defence. Yet, a larger part of him argued that she needed no protecting, not in this. The youth deliberated for a short while before the noble side of him won out and won him another kiss – this time atop the forehead from the one he had been trying to wreak vengeance on. Irma was most definitely using her powers.

"Get off me." Rubbing his forehead vigorously, Caleb kicked away from where the Water Guardian was cackling.

"What's the matter? I thought you liked being kissed by girls. Or is it only the Queen Blondie that you allow that liberty?" Irma tapped her chin. "Who would have known your tastes were so selective?"

"And what about you?" he shot back. "Have you seen anyone that might get your

"Ah, seen a few people I have," she replied, stretching and grinning like a cat who was a pounce away from catching its mouse. "Although it remains to be seen if they fit my own selective tastes."

"And what would these tastes be?"

"Not you."

"Hey, I'll have you know I am a perfect catch." Still, he laughed alongside her, reveling in the banter and the water's coolness.

So it went for a while, the two throwing words back and forth with the occasional, disgruntled input from a secretly fond flower. Matt and Will spent a time with their heads pressed together, discussing things both good and bad beneath the cover of Blunk's continued snoring. Soon enough, however, they joined their friends in the water. It did not take the young couple long to join forces against the proud Water Guardian.

 _This is good. It is,_ Caleb insisted to himself as he stroked leisurely through the pool. The problem with lying was that one always knew when they themselves were doing it. Even in the sunniest of places shadows could creep in, could blot out light and cast flowers into darkness. Could cut down stronger men and leave the weak completely destroyed.

Floating on his back, Caleb's eyes once more drifted up. The sky was blue, but for how long?

* * *

 **Thanks to wondertown9 who answered my question about Matt's family knowing: apparently they don't so that's what I went with. Sorry if I've stuffed anything up about Matt and his storyline/character by the way. Feel free to correct me if I have. I figured since his alter-ego was powered by hate (I believe) that he might be opposed to even disliking something at least for a while afterwards. Anyway...**

 **Prompt originally from Nova Raven who suggested that Caleb talk to Matt who would also be suffering from PTSD. Also an idea I think a few more of you wanted me to explore as well. I hope I did it justice. Not sure I did: Matt was harder to write than I thought, and I got a bit carried away with Irma at the end. -_-''**

 **Again, updates will be sporadic, although I will promise that the next chapter will definitely be CXC focused and I've got plans for the next few chapters. ;) I may be able to even get up a companion sort of one-shot I've been thinking about based on Tynar if I push myself and anyone's interested. Feel free to bug me about updates in the meantime.**

 **I hope that you enjoyed this. Please leave a review! I love receiving them.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any shape or form.**

 **Note: this is based off the cartoon series.**

 **So this was written in a few hours because I just realised it is _Red Hand Day_ (12 Feb every year!) and I can't NOT update this fic about the effects of PTSD on a child soldier on this day, the _International Day Against the Use of Child Soldiers._ Shout out to Val Marsal whose review I received earlier today made me remember. This chapter would be entirely dedicated to you if it were not dedicated to those children who fight as soldiers and rebels whether willingly or unwillingly. **

**This chapter is short and probably a bit hasty because of the time I took to write it, but next chapter will definitely be a lot longer given the content I'll cover. For all its shortcomings though, CxC as promised. And Caleb falling apart as usual. His girlfriend may or may not have something to do with that.**

* * *

He was playing with her hair, winding each flaxen strand of it between his fingers. It felt like silk against his roughened, calloused skin – a juxtaposition that seemed as strange as it nearly did ugly. Yet, how could Caleb decry the marks of a warrior even on skin as young as his own? They were marks of a survivor some of his friends said. The marks of a good leader some of the older people during the Rebellion had told him quietly in those moments where he had been too weak to hide his worry completely.

Still, it wasn't only those from the Rebellion who bore such hands – Tynar did too, long before he switched sides. Warriors and soldiers were not confined to one side in a war, and that made it harder some days for the youth to see his calloused hands as those of a survivor. How many of the vile cronies under Phobus' command had used such hands to beat a hapless victim? How many had used them to throttle the life from someone?

(How many of the upstarts now had the same calloused hands, for all Caleb _had_ to be on the good side?)

It was those calloused hands – when they had not been Cedric's reptilian ones – that had always grabbed the ex-rebel leader, captured him and imprisoned him. It must have been those hands that had taken his father and enslaved him to a fate perhaps coexistent with death. It was certainly those hands that tried to stop them when they broke free.

"What are you thinking of?" A lyrical question from a lyrical voice.

Caleb smiled down at the slender face that had tilted back to look at him. "Nothing." When a graceful eyebrow raised he amended himself. "Nothing much."

"And what is nothing much to you?"

 _Too much._ He did not say that. He scarcely dared to think it.

"Do your parents dream?" he asked instead.

To her credit the Guardian of Earth remained unfazed by the abrupt turn of conversation.

"My dad says he doesn't," she said. "But mum says he just doesn't remember them and that everyone dreams. She's had a few really weird ones. Like the time the TV ate the stereo and spat up Elton John who sang a love rock-ballad with dad on their honeymoon in Hawaii while mum did the Macarena with Freddie Mercury."

Caleb didn't understand half of what the center of his universe had just said, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to. Still, it was an answer though it did little in resolving the turmoil inside himself. "Just weird dreams?"

"Good ones too, I'm sure."

"And…bad ones?" His fingers made to curl towards his palms and with effort Caleb stopped them. "What about nightmares?"

She was silent, that flower laying in his lap, her face unreadable as she stared at him. Whether she was trying to piece together what the question stemmed from or whether she was walking the path of memory he could not tell. Yet, from her he feared no judgment – he had no need to fear. A rarity in his short life, but one treasured much more because of it.

"I guess," came her words finally. "Everyone gets them from time to time." She rose from where she laid, blonde hair spilling down her back as she turned to face him. Her blue eyes were more serious than before. They seemed to pierce into Caleb's very heart. (He would not be surprised if they did; what was his heart but her?) "What is this about? You can tell me."

Fingers curled again and this time it was the long, slender hands of the Earth Guardian that stopped them. Caleb looked away.

"What would you do if your parents had one?" he asked.

Another look, a longer one. Then she shrugged and brushed her hand across the dirt. If flowers, small and colourful, bloomed in its wake then no one else saw but them in their own secluded section of the park.

"I don't know," she said. "I've never seen them have one."

Silence fell again, not uncomfortable but not peaceful either. Inside the mind of one youth worry wilted the natural glow of flowers. Inside the mind of the other memories of a dark night unlike most threatened to curdle the faith he had in the steadiness of the world.

A man he was now, yet for all his age and experience Caleb was still young. He did not have the words to ask what he truly needed to unburden the doubt weighing in his heart. The best he could do was the muddle through others in the hope that she would understand (and if he hoped in anything, still hoped at all, it was in her).

"I-" He stumbled to a stop. More memories came, older and worse than the first. Yet… And yet. _It might work._

She was looking at him, as open and vulnerable as he needed himself to be (as he could never be, could never risk being _and yet…_ ). He could do this. He had to. (Couldn't afford not to. The roots of the world were shaking and if they shook hard enough than he would fall and everything he held dear with him).

The ex-rebel leader inhaled. "I still remember when they told me my father wasn't coming back."

An exhale, but it was not his own breath. Not now, not then. He hadn't been able to breath then. Hadn't been able to imagine going on, surviving to the next day. But he had.

 _("Your father…" The man had been unable to get out the words, unable to look into the wide green eyes that stared up at him._

 _It was only when Caleb first had to deliver the same message himself to another that he understood the complex wash of emotions that had graced the others face. Then, however, he had only been able to blink in a lack of comprehension and budding apprehension._

 _"Your father was ambushed," another broke in, this one a woman with a fierce jaw and crooked nose. Her words were blunt and bitter, but not as harsh as they could have been for a veteran of a seemingly hopeless war. "He did not make it back from the battlefield."_

 _It was like all the air had been sucked from the entire world.)_

"They told me he had been killed," Caleb said, almost too dully for the topic at hand. "Everyone hoped he had been. The alternative would have been worse – was worse."

He could have laughed. The world had been in a sorry state indeed if death had been better than the alternative. Only laughing would worry her, would make those ugly lines of concern wrinkle her face and that was the last thing he wanted. So he did not, swallowing that fey laughter instead.

 _(Somehow Caleb had been able to function beyond the news, as young as he was, not a man, but with a man's burden. Now a burden tripled in size. He had talked to the survivors of the ambush. He had talked to other patrols in the area. He had talked to the oldest among them and the wisest about what was to be done now about the Rebellion._

 _He had refrained from taking up his sword and charging to the place where his father had fallen, vengeance on his lips and suicidal fellness in his heart. He wanted to, wanted to so badly that it ached like a wound from a sword, but he did not. His father had fallen and he was leader. They would all look to him now and even if they did not he no longer had a shield to protect him in those moments of weakness._

 _The world had shook and it fell to him to be the shield on ever shakier ground._

 _So he brushed off the concern. Clasped an arm or two in silent acknowledgment of sorrows shared and moved on. His father was gone, but the Rebellion was not. Phobos was not. Duty demanded its doing._

 _When Caleb finally went to bed that night, alone beside a bedroll that would never again be slept in by its first owner – resources were scarce and all things of the missing or dead or_ worse _were redistributed quickly – he had gotten no sleep. His head buried in his arms he thought of times that seemed so long ago but really were not at all, of being held in strong arms, a smile breaking on an ever-wearier face with every new word he learned, a hand ruffling his hair and cuddling him close when the racket around them was not so bad._

 _The boy thought of the last meal they had shared, weeks before his father had left so busy were they both with fighting and not dying and making sure others did not die. It had been a simple fare: rations with a little extra bread as a gift for something Julien had done for someone else. They had hardly spoken; they had no need for words that night._

 _Now how Caleb wished they had spoken of everything under the sun._

 _Unable to help himself, he cried.)_

The young commander refused to cry now, refused to let that old, festering hurt still hurt him now. It did anyway, as it always did.

 _A fate worse than death…_

"I moved on. You have to when you're helping lead a Rebellion," Caleb said plainly. "I didn't think about him as often as I should have as a grieving son. Then I thought about him less as other things, living things became more urgent."

He did not believe he had truly mourned his father's supposed passing before they had found a hint of him and then found the man himself. He still hadn't truly mourned all those who had died during the Rebellion and fall of Paradise. In war there was never time. He never had the time.

Caleb closed his eyes and breathed. The slender hands now stroking down his face helped.

"Your father had a nightmare." It was not a question.

"I didn't know what to do," Caleb gasped out. "I couldn't help him." _I couldn't help him_ then _either._

A rock, his rock to stand on. A shield to guard him that had been ripped away – he had forged another, but it was ill-fitting and too easily dented, and now the old shield could no longer cover him as well as it once had. He was vulnerable and it was damning.

"Caleb, it's okay." Those hands dropped from his face to take up his own fisted ones. The scent of rosemary drifted into the air and the youth relaxed, holding her hands back tenderly and desperately all at once. "It's okay."

"How can it be?" The orphaned boy had cried that as well, silently to himself.

"You're both not dead." A small smile, too tentative for her. Even in his distress Caleb wanted to wipe that tentativeness away. She shouldn't have to be tentative, not around him.

 _Get a grip._ The harsh words had worked more than once during danger-induced panic and they worked now. The well of everything that had cracked open inside him slammed shut. He tried a smile and found it was not such an odd thing upon his face.

The youth pressed his forehead against his love's own, intimate and chaste even as she pressed back. For a while they stayed like that, silence leaking between them where words had no place. Nose to nose they breathed each other's breath as they often did, perhaps imagining themselves the Guardians of Air as they did so if either were inclined to such fantasies. But the reality was just as powerful. More so, for neither of them could control the winds nor the currents that let the birds soar or the breeze that caressed every leaf it passed, but they could control _this_. Them. And they needed no special Powers to do so.

She inhaled as all flowers did. "So, your father had a nightmare. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know!"

In the quiet that had once been Caleb erupted violently. Yet, she simply gripped his hands tighter and pressed their heads even closer. The air from their lungs mingled between them even more, the same breath sustaining them both at once. In and out. In and out. Together even if the world should fall apart.

"I don't know," he said again, calmer now.

"Has he said anything?"

"No. He just held me after he woke." Had held him together even as he fell to pieces. (But now they were both cracked and cracked stone never made for solid foundations or strong defences…)

The Guardian of Earth tilted her head. "Why don't you try talking to him then?"

Caleb looked away. There were many things wrong with the suggestion (and yet nothing at all). Not least among them was that talking would confirm what had happened as real. That it was not some sort of sleep deprived hallucination Caleb had seen. And if it was real-

It felt like he was going to lose his father again, an irrational fear perhaps, but one he could not help having. He remembered too well the night when the other rebels had returned from battle, but his father had not. He remembered it too well.

 _(His tears had been gone by dawn, though the pain shadowed the boy wherever he went at times seemingly only visible to himself.)_

She drew back, frowning at him as a finger flicker his shoulder only half playfully. "You should. It could help."

"Hmmm…" It was as much commitment as he was prepared to give, even to her. Instead he brushed the yellow and purple blooms with half-cupped petals. "What flowers are these?"

"Crocus," came the reply in that fragrant voice. "Talking about Freddie Mercury got me thinking about history – Earth history I mean. There was a Roman god by the name based off some Greek one… Anyway, they have symbols and I've been researching flowers because I'm the Guardian of _Earth_ and I should know my own element-"

"I'm sorry," Caleb interrupted, paying attention to the other issue gnawing ceaselessly at him at last. "What in Meridian's name is a Freddie Mercury? Some sort of torture device? And why would you do a Macarena with it?"

For a moment there was silence. Then came the laughter, clear and ringing and as beautiful as a bell wrought from gold and silver and starlight must be. It was the laughter of flowers, sweet and serene. Caleb could have listened to it forever even if it was laughing at him.

"Freddie Mercury was a rock singer in a band called 'Queen' decades ago," the flowers tittered. "He was really good. And the Macarena is the name of a specific dance. I'll show you one time."

"You could show me now."

"Hmm." Blonde hair flipped in the sunlight. "I'm comfortable and we're in public. I can show you one of Freddie's songs though. …And don't tell Imra or Will you don't know the Macarena."

She reached for her bag discarded almost carelessly beside them, digging through it for the music carrying box she always had. He watched her, the errant strand of hair that had dropped over her face, the hunch of her shoulders as she pushed her arm deeper into the bag, the little frown on her face as she blindly groped for what she wanted.

But the Guardian of Earth was the Guardian of dirt and rock for a reason. She was steady in most things and her determination, when evoked, was unwavering.

"Most psychs say talking helps," she said to the air.

"Psychs?"

"Psychologists." At his still confused look, she expanded. "People who learn how to help other people deal with things in their head when those things become problems. Things like Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Oh." He remembered that name. He remembered not liking the implications it made.

"You don't have any people like that in Meridian?"

"No." Did they? He doubted it. No one specialised in the area of the mind who was not aiming to use that specialisation for power. It had been one of Phobos' fouler methods to oppress those he sought to rule, and to think of _her_ …

"Here." A flower handed him her headphones, head still bowed as she played with the device connected to them. Catching his perplexed look as her eyes flicked briefly upwards, she sniffed and tossed her hair. "Clearly you need to be educated on the best music of Earth's past."

Never one to fully trust the other when her mood was such, eyes gleaming with a passling's mischievousness, Caleb slowly slipped the headphones on. The next moment he ripped them off and stared at the keeper of his heart accusingly.

"That was _not_ music!" he cried.

"It's called the _Bohemian Rhapsody_. I sped it up to my favourite part," she said smugly.

"That was- That-" He waved his arm having no words to describe it. "Sometimes I don't understand you Earth dwellers."

"And sometimes I don't understand you. I guess that makes us even." The words were said with a little peck to his cheek softening the snark just a little.

Caleb grinned, not one to be outdone in flustering the other. "No, this does."

Then he lunged at her, bringing one hand to her head and the other to her back as he bore them to the ground. His lips crashed on those soft as a petal, careful and tender even in his passion. Those same lips parted in greeting as they curved into a wanton smile. For one breath, then two, then three, then more they held together until both their lungs were screaming for air. When they drew apart, however, they did so quickly before sinking back into a less frenzied and fonder thing.

Those slender hands had found his hair, were tangling themselves in his short strands even as he shivered as her own brushed his cheeks. He shivered further at the sight of golden flax spread among the green and purple of crushed flowers. Her eyes were dilated with desire. Yet, they went no further than this, content enough as they were to hold and kiss like two children freshly delving into the art of love. Children they were, at least in this, and it mattered not to either one of them.

More than that, to Caleb he also held a rock. Smooth and silken were the skin and hair he touched, but beneath laid the reason she had been chosen as the Guardian of Earth. What mountain bowed to the roots that shook around them, that ever-unsteady world ready to shift treacherously beneath one's feet? A mountain's roots went deeper and were of immovable stone. Perhaps from them he could form a new shield, could rework and reinforce his old one so it fit a little better around him. She would let him, of that there was no doubt. She would help him, and as they kissed Caleb found himself a little less vulnerable than he had been.

And if those flowers whispered that he should speak to his father, perhaps this once he listened.

* * *

 **I've taken some liberties with Cornelia being interested at least a little in history (ancient at least) plus thought she would develop an interest in the meaning of flowers after gaining her powers. Fun fact - Crocus is one of the sacred plants of Hermes, the Ancient Greek god the Roman god, Mercury, was derived from. Crocus also symbolises cheerfulness, gladness, youthfulness and mirth - perhaps things a certain someone wished for someone else. ;)**

 **Next chapter covers another prompt and while no CxC appears (at this stage anyway), it is father-son based with a dash of _mother_ besides. And Vathek because it's been far too long since I last wrote him. Don't expect a quick update though - this was a one off on quickness. I'm going to be focusing on my own fiction writing for once!**

 _ **Some facts about child soldiers for those who are interested (and even those who are not):**_

 _Child soldiers can range from as young as 4 to late teens._

 _Not all children are fighters - some are cooks, messengers, informers, spies or used for sex._

 _50 countries/States still use child soldiers and many more militant groups._

 _There is an international treaty aimed at ending the use of child soldiers - 18 years old!_

 **I hope that you enjoyed this. Please leave a review! I love receiving them.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any shape or form.**

 **Note: this is based off the cartoon series.**

 **Argh! I'm so sorry! There are just not enough hours in the day for me to do everything I need/want to do. In any case, here is a new chapter and a reminder that I am still alive. Make sure to read the WARNINGS below:**

 **!TRIGGER WARNINGS! for this chapter - brief mention of past suicidal thoughts (NOT Caleb); and several swear words are repeated a few times, though more towards the end.**

* * *

It was something unnamed that made his feet turn right instead of left. A voice in his head without a face to attach to it. Or perhaps a memory of a vast blue face belonging to one of his closest friends. A very insistent face. One that was the reason sleep had alluded him yet again. _You need to talk to him_. _You need to talk to him._ Like a relentless drum in his head: _you need to talk to him._

But _he_ never wanted to talk, and the man was unprepared to navigate such a delicate conversation. For it was delicate. More so because history proved that any conversation passing that false place of 'fine' ended in less than fine ways.

Julian ran a hand through his beard. Still, Vathek did not possess powers of precognition and so he was not to blame for the standoff currently occurring between father and son in Queen Elyon's halls. Despite however much Julian wanted to blame him.

 _You need to talk to him_ – things were never that easy.

As the awkward moment stretched, Julian used it to discretely observe his son. Caleb had recently returned from earth and the peace that seemed lay itself over him whenever he visited still lingered. The older man could see it in the less frantic gaze in the other's green eyes, in the slightly lighter shadows beneath them. The youth was steadier, much like the earth his heart commanded. Certainly steadier than when he had left. Then Caleb's hands had continuously trembled, only slightly, but noticeable to one whose job it was to notice every little thing about him. That trembling had ceased. It was absent now as it had been for months before it had begun again – a thing to be thankful for indeed.

Yet, still there was unease. All the glances, the subconscious gestures, the reluctance to talk and yet the reluctance to leave his father entirely alone - Julian knew it was because of him. Yet, for the life of him he could not determine why. Even the silence of the empty hall and all the shadows it contained that stretched between the two figures standing feet apart, engulfing that same distance with all the greed of a dictator.

 _Start small,_ he told himself and so he did. "Has sleep eluded you too?"

Caleb gave a grunt in return.

For a moment Julian's heart stopped beating. That was as close to a non-denial as his son had come with him in the recent months. It gave him hope but was a tentative place; still there was as much chance of missteps as before. _Slowly, slowly…_ "Would you care to join me in the gardens? I find them more peaceful than this these walls sometimes."

Caleb gave no answer, but he quietly fell into step beside his father as the latter began walking once more. Neither were wearing shoes, not that it mattered. Both were used to trudging through mud and dirt, and, if they were honest, there was a certain comfort to be taken from it. Indeed, the younger of the two had taken to going barefoot in the palace grounds more frequently since his relationship with a certain Guardian had steadied.

Julian smiled to himself at the thought. Young love was what it was, besotted with all those tiny things that neither lover knew they were doing and yet were endearing all the same. It was the kind of thing he had wished for as a boy, had hoped he himself had found once-

 _You need to speak to him._

Julian sighed.

The palace was as silent and empty as it could be, breathing just barely with the lungs of those many struck by repose and those few who repose had abandoned either in malice or for duty. The guards posted about were silent too, mostly, as father and son passed them. One or two murmured greetings; one or two greetings were quietly returned.

A strange thing it seemed to Julian, that such peace could exist in such halls as had been used to torment and launch reign of terror after terror for so long. Yet, he remembered the days of old when they had not been so. The old King and Queen had been largely admired. Festivals they had held aplenty in the confines of the city and in their own halls, all with open invitations to anyone who wished to attend. Julian had only seen the face of the King a handful of times and the face of the Queen a handful more in his life, but he remembered them well. Kind and soft and round the both of them, with that ethereal quality bestowed upon her as now bestowed itself upon their child. Phobos had been nothing of the sort, instead all harsh and sharp edges to his features.

But he was gone, Julian reminded himself. Locked up with Vathek as guard. The shadows in the hall were just that – shadows and nothing more.

Yet, the tension in Caleb's shoulders belied that last thought. Even half sagging in weariness, the young man was ever a leader ready to charge headlong into war. The shadows might not have disturbed Julian, but this did for it was he who had first told a young boy that sometimes duty must be held over safety, so the Rebellion would hold.

The man had lived long years and in them he had made mistakes. This was one of them.

Each shadow grew longer when the doors to the gardens were opened and the dim lights failed to reach the night beyond. Each plant caught in the soft wind gave a silent wave as greeting. It was cold. Julian could feel frost biting at his nose, turning it red like it always did, but cold though it was, he was thankful. The cold sharpened his thoughts. Cleared the sluggishness of his mind born from his reluctance to address the matter.

They chose a place to sit, each following the other without any real thought. There was a bush before them covered in flowers, but it was impossible to tell which in the dark. It did not matter. It was not the duty of flowers to comfort a child about their parent's mistakes.

And so Julian steeled himself to speak.

"There is something on my mind, but I don't know how to put it."

The words swelled up between them like rising tides on a shore. They were good words, strong words, though a little timid and unsure. Brave despite this. And Caleb's, not his father's.

Julian looked away from his son, aura encouraging and yet keenly aware that the other needed some semblance of privacy to allow even a crack of vulnerability to show. The youth's hands were splayed on the grass where they sat. Julian covered one with his own, lending what support he could. His son would not have to do this entirely alone.

A while passed and the flowers danced upon their bush in the wind. Perhaps Caleb found strength in them as he found strength in another sought of flower. Finally, he said, "How did you cope with the stress of being a leader of the Rebellion?"

Julian thought. It was not an easy question to answer. "I had you," he said. "I also had a picture in my head of what I wanted Meridian to be like and the hope that it could be achieved. Or at least the stubbornness. Many others also shared that dream and it helped. We knew we were not in it alone."

"Were you ever afraid?"

"Yes," the older man said, as honest in this matter as he was in all others with his son. Then, in perhaps a risky move, he asked, "Were you?"

Predictably, Caleb did not answer. Nor, however, did he flee. Still, the youth shifted uncomfortably, and Julian thought it best to press another point before the calmness they shared was lost to more the potent things that denial spawned.

"It is alright to be afraid." Those seemingly age-old words he had first muttered mere months ago.

"Perhaps." Yet Caleb still refused to believe. "But what if your fear causes someone to die? What if it causes you to lose someone you care about? How can it be alright then?"

Julian looked at his son, adoration and steel in his eyes. "When I was a slave it was fear that kept me alive. Fear for you. Hope helped, but the fear that something might happen to you, that something had happened or would if I never got out kept me from following the path of so many others. It stopped me from killing myself, Caleb."

And if his son flinched at the admission he had never once spoken of then Julian could not bring himself to care. It, if nothing else, would get his point across. Perhaps it did so too well.

Caleb suddenly clung to his father like the toddler he had once been when things had just as suddenly dived into the maw of darkness. Julian s leaving many people bewildered and terrified, and many more dead. Though he might have aged into manhood, the youth still buried his head into his father's chest. Julian allowed it, let his son mould him instead of the other way around, bringing his arms up as though to shield his boy from the world set out to devour them. Caleb did not speak, but he did not need to. His shock and fear and grief were epitomised in his trembling.

"Fear can be good," Julian reiterated. "Like when it keeps you from making the same mistakes as before. There are things in life we cannot avoid or change, they just happen to us regardless of what we want. Sometimes things happen because we were not fast enough to catch a rock before it fell. Sometimes because we were distracted by a bird that suddenly flew out of nowhere. Sometimes because we did not know any better than to take the bait laid inside a trap. Then more things happen. The bad ones get away. People get hurt, maybe die. We come to fear doing the same thing again, so we learn not to do it." He brushed a gentle hand against his child's cheek. "The Rebellion as you remember it was not forged in a day or even a year. It was messy to begin with, just a group of us out of our depths and with more rage than common sense. We made mistakes. Some big ones. But we learnt. We feared making the same mistakes again. _I_ feared losing you."

Against him, Caleb heaved a shuddering breath. Julian closed his eyes. _Now! Now! Do it now!_ – Vathek's voice was insistent. They had learnt in part because the Mage had shown them how. She in her mask had opened the Infinite City and guided them towards the burning flame that would spark the end to Phobos' reign. Yet, Julian could not bring himself to speak of _her_. Not yet.

Hands tightening where they laid across Caleb's back, the bearded man squeezed close his eyes. "It is alright to be afraid, but do not let yourself be lost to it." He drew back to cup his son's face, eyes now open and beseeching. "Know _what_ to be afraid for. Your life. Your friends. Your lady. Your children if you come to have any."

"You."

"What?" The word had been small, the voice smaller still. Julian was unsure if he had correctly heard his son.

Caleb swallowed. Tore his face away from his father's hands then returned to meet the other's gaze. Louder this time he said, "I am afraid for you."

Julian's breath caught in his throat. They were sweet words, said from a place of love. They spoke of the sort of fear he was trying to encourage, and yet the father in him rebelled. Children were not supposed to fear for their parents. _Or be afraid_ of _them._

"Why do you fear for me?" he said instead of dwelling on the matter. Perhaps this would explain why the youth had grown so cautious around him.

Caleb looked away again, this time at his hands but they remained as steady as his will had during the Rebellion. His words, though, were small. "That nightmare you had…"

For a moment Julian could not think of what was meant by those words. Then he remembered, remembered dreaming a dream of red and severed heads, and waking to the very much attached head of his frantic son. They had spent the passing of what was left of that ruined night in each other's arms and when dawn had come Caleb had left his father's bedroom like the cool Commander he so often was. They had not talked about it since. Caleb clearly had not wanted to. Julian had not thought to – nightmares were common during the Rebellion and it was not the first time Caleb had woken him from one.

Still, it was an oversight on his part. That much was clear.

"What about it?" Julian asked. His eyes were encouraging though his lips were somber.

"I thought you were-" A breath. A rewrite of the thoughts in his head. Let it never be said Caleb easily gave away his own thinking. "It caught me off guard."

A hand rested on the youth's head. "I am sure it did." Then a realisation. "You have not seen me have a nightmare since the Queen begun her reign, have you?"

"I was scared." It came out in a gush, clearly unbidden. Even now Caleb tried to recant it. "For you. I was scared for you."

Now Julian smiled, somberness still marking his face. "You need not fear for me, son. Not now. I am alright."

"You were very shaken when you woke…"

"I was," the man conceded. "But I came to recognize it as a dream. It was not real and so I chose not to dwell too deeply on it." It had been a simple manifestation of his own fears, ones he had learnt to deal with long ago.

"Oh."

"Having you there helped," Julian said. Caleb looked down at his hands. His father sighed. "I am sorry you walked in on such a site and that you had to wake me."

"It's fine," the other brushed it off.

It wasn't. Yet, Julian could not have helped the situation. No one chose to get nightmares and very few could control them when they did. It was a thing that had happened and there was no use in wishing that it hadn't. Just like there was no use in wishing other things had not happened either.

But could he ever wish he had never met _her_?

Julian looked at Caleb and sighed again. "I have something that I would like to talk about, if there is nothing else you would say."

His son swallowed, leaning forward into his drawn-up knees. "What is it?"

It was a mellower answer than Julian would have expected just weeks ago. _That girl has done wonders for him._

A breath to find courage and another to slow the nervous beat of his heart. To dull the pain that even now gripped it with an iron fist. "You know I did my best to raise you given the circumstances," he began.

"Yes…" Caleb was warier now. Yet, it was so hard to not break the eggshells this topic walked upon.

 _Do not fail me now, courage. Not now._

"You only ever had one parent and that is something I truly regret," Julian continued. He remembered his own parents well before they had been separated in the initial chaos of Phobos' reign. He had never seen them again. "A child should know a mother's kindness as well as he knows a father's protection."

"I did not need a mother. I had you," Caleb said with steel in his voice, green eyes flashing, daring his father to contradict him – eyes he had inherited from her.

Julian stared into them now, remembered the first time he had seen such eyes, remembered the love he had thought filled their gaze. Perhaps it always had in her twisted mind. The fact that it always hurt to look into them, to regard their depths as he once regarded that woman's, was something the man would never admit aloud to his son or anyone else. They were Caleb's eyes, and yet they were hers as well. The colour was the same, though the spirit in them was not, and it was something Julian could never quite make himself forget.

"We need to talk about her, son."

Caleb's next words were ice. "About who? I have no mother."

Stubbornness was a trait she had possessed as well, but Caleb was not her. He was not.

"You do," Julian said. "Though it is one both of us would prefer to be different. Still, this is one of the things that has happened and that we cannot change. She is your mother as she was once my lover and the sorceress who deceived us all."

" _She_ was no mother to me," Caleb stubbornly denied. "I have no mother."

"No, you did not." The older of the two straightened where he sat, determined to see this conversation through and all the blunt truths it screamed must be spoken. "That is her fault for abandoning you. That is my fault for not realising her deception in the first place."

" _She_ has no relation to me."

"She has a name-"

"Shut up!" If Caleb were younger he would have pressed his hands over his ears. Now he simply stood and made to leave.

Julian stood as well, catching his son by the shoulder. "We need to talk about this. She will not go away simply because we never mention her name."

"No. There's a jewel we have for that." Harsh words. Spoken about any other mother they would have resulted in Caleb being severely reprimanded, adult now or not. " _She_ is evil! _She_ is insane. I have fought for good all my life and I will have no part of that. I refuse to!"

"I am not asking you to be a part of that. You are not. You never will be." Julian brought his hands to his son's face then drew them away to be clasped together, seeking the strength it brought him even if it was simply his own. This called for truth so truth he would speak. "I made a mistake, but it is a mistake I do not regret. I cannot regret it for without being deceived I would not have you. I would not give you up for anything, even for the wish that I had never met her."

Green eyes looked to him then looked away. Their colour was brightened by the sheen of tears that laid over them, yet those tears were Caleb's alone. Julian had never seen Nerissa cry. Was certain she was not capable of it.

His boy, his child heaved something terrible and choked that much like the sound of a sob. "I-"

"Please," Julian beseeched. "May we simply talk? That is all I ask."

His son refused to meet his eyes. "I cannot. Not now. Not just now."

"Caleb-"

"There you are!" Aldarn was out of breath. "The Queen has summoned you to her council."

Caleb frowned. "What's going on?" His friend shrugged. Julian did too when his son near unconsciously looked to him. The young Commander sighed. "Then I guess I had better find out what it is."

"Hurry," Aldarn urged. "It sounded important."

" _Of course_ it did," the other shot back over his shoulder as he began lightly jogging. "Everything does when it is the Queen summoning you!"

Aldarn turned to look at Julian. "Father says he gets the sarcasm from you."

"He is probably right," the older man smiled. Worry gnawed its way through his stomach unseen on his face or in his words.

" _Of course_ he is right," another voice boomed behind them.

Julian ran a hand down his face. "Vathek."

"Father of the ban of my life."

Aldarn wisely bit his lip. "I thought Blunk was the ban of your life."

"That fool was the one who befriended him," Vathek said. "Besides, that passling has been in my life for less time than Caleb and it is usually Caleb who gets the pair of them into trouble. It certainly was not Blunk or _you_ who decided to stampede a flock of Hoogongs at the age of six."

Julian laughed. "I remember that! One of the rare times you visited from the city. I believe you were almost run down. You screamed like a child."

"And I believe you almost fainted yourself when you realised just _who_ was riding one of those monsters," Vathek shot back.

"Well, I can laugh about it in hindsight," the man replied.

Aldarn had been listening to the two with glee, no doubt hoping for further tidbits he could tease his friend with. Yet, now he seemed to remember himself and straightened once more – the perfect image of the Queen's personal guard. "As pleasant as this conversation is, I must be off. I have messages to deliver."

"Anything we should know about?" Julian asked.

"I am sure her Majesty and Caleb will enlighten you as soon as they end their meeting," the young Galhot said. "But between us I think there is going to be a fight of some sort. The unrest has spiked suddenly near the city's borders."

Then he was off, leaving the other two to muse over his words.

"I hope the prisoners do not get wind of this change of events," Vathek finally said. "They are unbearable enough as it is. I know that it is looked down upon to hit someone who cannot get away but sometimes Phobos really-"

"This is the last thing Caleb needs!" Julian's explanation cut off his friend in a show of uncharacteristic rudeness. Vathek regarded the man.

"At least it is not another tyrant," the Galhot finally said.

"Another tyrant, another coupe, it does not matter," Julian spat. "It cannot be good for my son. He has already been ill effected by his experience of life so far, he does not need this heaped on him as well! Nightmares. Fear. A damn reluctance to speak about anything- I wish it was never so."

Vathek exhaled. "That is what happens to soldiers. What happens in war. There is no avoiding it for anyone."

"I feel responsible," Julian sighed, dropping his head to his hand.

"That bitch is responsible, if anything," Vathek replied, a low growl sounding in his throat.

His friend shook his head. "She may have deceived me and birthed him, but I was the one to raise him. She had nothing to do with that, at least not until, well…"

"Good riddance to her," Vathek snarled under his breath. He refocused on the man beside him. "You did the best you could given the circumstances. I have seen many children who grew up worse with only one or no parents during the Rebellion. Drake for one is a monster who has no talent with that thrice damned lute of his yet loves to use it to inflict pain on others."

"Drake does not feel as though he has the world resting on his shoulders."

"Drake was not leader of the Rebellion nor is he the Queen's Commander," Vathek countered. "As I said, there are children who grew up to be worse – notorious criminals who take advantage of unrest and feral creatures with no experience of civilisation. Caleb is neither of those."

"He is troubled all the same," Julian said.

Here Vathek turned to stare the other in the eyes, hunching his great form to do so before placing two large hands on sturdy shoulders. "We are all troubled after what happened. Some more than others. Eric sees things that are not there. You and I have nightmares, and perhaps I also have a shorted temper than I once did. Of course Caleb is still under the shadow of the tyrants we have faced, but it seems normal, if not healthy. He will come around eventually. I can count on your skills as a father to ensure he does."

But Julian shook his head, instead crying out: "He will not even mention her name!"

"You barely do," Vathek replied solemnly.

"Nerissa," the other said, fire suddenly flaring in his eyes. "Nerissa. Nerissa. Nerissa. Is that what you want me to hear me say? That bitch Nerissa lied to me and used me for her own games. Used our son. Hurt him." _Hurt me._

But one was more unforgivable than the other.

"You loved her, didn't you?"

"Of course I did!" Julian cried. _May I be damned for I still do._ "She was to me what that girl is to my son! I would have moved mountains for her, would have done anything she asked. I begged her to stay with me, to stay with us when Caleb was born, but she was the Mage and her duties outweighed even those of a love, of a mother to a newborn son." He breathed. Threw his head back in a memory that was as frustrating as much as it hurt. "The day we met I was besotted by her eyes. The rest of her was lovely, do not mistake me, but her eyes… Like the green reflected in the lake on a clear day when the winds are still and the sun is gold and the leaves on every tree are filled with life, good and whole and sweet." He laughed. It was not a pleasant-sounding thing. "I was a fool."

"No more than anyone else who trusted her," Vathek said.

"None of them allowed her to seduce them into bed and produce a son."

"True." The Galhot thought through his words, choosing each carefully. In some ways the father could be as delicate as the son. "But she was a Guardian, a sorcerer that could outmatch even our Queen in power." He squeezed the man's shoulders, soft eyes resting in a face plated by stone. "She was a trickster and a murderer apt in the magic of deception. You were a young man guided as all young men are when someone beautiful and sweet casts hooded eyes in their direction. Perhaps you were fooled, but it was not a mistake. That son you made won us the war! Insane she might have been, but at least the bitch got that right – Caleb was destined for great things and ending the darkness in Meridian was one of them."

"But now he fears her evil was passed onto him." Julian came to rest his face in his hands once more, keeping in check the dryness of his eyes but finding his voice choked all the same. What could he do, the man who had been fooled into sleeping with an insane woman? The man who stilled loved her despite everything, in a small, hidden part of him that could never again see the light of day.

Vathek was not gentle with his advice when it came. "Then you need to convince him it was not."

"How?"

"How does a father scold his son so that he does not stampede Hoogongs again?" Vathek shrugged. "I never had any children. I would not know. But you two _need_ to talk about Nerissa. No good can come of hiding from her."

Julian sighed. "I should have taken him and run to the fringes of this land when Phobos came to power."

"And raised a coward?" Vathek snorted. "It is in your blood no more than in his, and he is the most stubborn, brave hearted fool I have ever had the pleasure to fight beside. Next to you, in any case. Do you think raising him in the heart of the Rebellion was a mistake? That it forged him to be how he is? Then it was not your mistake alone. We all groomed him to hold a sword, to lead raids instead of playing with mud and sticks, to spy where no one else dared to go. It was us who looked to him for leadership when you were gone. If there is fault here, it does not just lie with you." The Galhot once more placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "My friend, you are too hard on yourself. As you say, we should focus on fixing what is in the present instead of becoming lost dwelling in the past. Perhaps you should heed your own advice. I hear it is very wise."

"Perhaps I should then," the bearded man conceded. He rubbed his face one last time before beginning to walk once more, pausing only long enough for the unspoken invitation to be taken up by his friend. " _You_ have wise words about parenting for someone who never had a child."

Vathek laughed. "My wisdom simply comes from listening to others."

"As all spies do," Julian grinned.

"It was certainly no hard feat when the ones you are spying on talk about secrets loud enough for the walls themselves to roll their eyes. Perhaps Phobos should have spent less time training brutes and more time in training them in the delicate matter of being silent."

"Who knows? He may have won if he had."

Despite the horrid scenario that entailed, both still laughed anyway at the sort of dark humour few who had not survived such horrid things could understand. Julian remembered the first mistake he had ever made on a raid and laughed harder still. He had knocked down a pot. The guards they had been targeting had, fortunately, been arguing so loudly about what was to happen to the village they missed both the crash and Julian being berated by the woman whose stew he had upturned. What was nerve-racking at the time was now one of his comrades' favourite stories to tell about him: the great Rebel leader who was cowed by an old pot and an even older shrew.

The guards stationed about seemed to be torn between gawking at the two wheezing heroes and ignoring them. Certainly a few of the grey-haired ones rolled their own eyes at the lack of silent respect for the night and its dreams. Julian could not care less as he stumbled on like a drunk, harm in arm with Vathek.

"I did have a question," his friend spoke up. "About something you said before."

"Yes?"

"I thought you two… _conceived_ Caleb in a field of grass as free as the winds that blew upon it, not in a bed like other traditional folk," Vathek said slyly.

"Shut up."

"You are as eloquent as your son I see."

Julian regarded him. "How long were you standing there when we were talking, before Aldarn came?"

The Galhot waggled his brow and smirked. "Long enough."

"Hmmm." The man strode forward without pause. "I was thinking of telling Drake you would love to listen to one of his newer compositions to see what wisdom you can glean from it. I am sure he would love to entertain you."

Vathek spluttered and cussed, halting for a moment before hurrying after the other with vague threats about setting passlings on him and cursing lutes to plague him in the nights. Julian listened but said nothing further, content to let the other stew in misery for a while longer. After all, what use were mistakes if one never learnt from them?

* * *

 **Not overly happy with how Caleb & Julian's conversation turned out but ah well. This is a response to a prompt from long, long ago from WITHCFan who was interested in reading a chapter where Julian and Caleb addressed their respective relationships with Nerissa. And for Julian to talk to Vathek (adding him in was the really fun part, I'll admit). It was only short but I will come back to the father-son talk about mother dearest part of this prompt later... ;)**

 **On Julian's suicidal thoughts when a slave - considering the conditions and the despair that must have overcome him at some points, plus the length of time he spent there, I doubt he didn't at least dwell on such things once or twice briefly. Feel free to disagree with me though.**

 **On another note, I have the ending for this in site. It will take a while to get there (and I _don't_ mean my tendency not to update for months), so we are not over the horizon yet (and my affinity for putting Caleb's mental state through hell has not yet run its course - hint, hint for the next chapter...), but it's in site. I dislike leaving things unfinished (believe me, it bugs me as much as I think it does some of you) but I also want to move more fully onto other projects. **

**I hope that you enjoyed this. Please leave a review! I love receiving them.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any shape or form.**

 **Note: this is based off the cartoon series.**

 **A short little thing to tide you over before the main update that will happen sometime this week (even if I have to stay up all night every night). I'd say it is an apology for the horrendous length of time it took me to update this, but, well…. You'll see. Enjoy?**

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They were sitting in Elyon's gardens waiting for news that the one they loved – one as a father, one as a friend and one as a lover – had returned unharmed. She had come to Meridian, not as the Guardian of Earth or friend of the Queen that was Meridian's Heart, but as someone who wished to see the one who kept her own heart. What she had found was that someone's father pacing furiously atop the battlements. It had not been reassuring. Even less so when Blunk had filled her in on the details.

Of course the rebels would strike now that the peace no longer seemed so tentative. _Of course_ Caleb would go out to meet them.

The blue eyed girl bit her lips. She was worried, yes. Yes, she was worried, but a frown creased her brow in stubbornness for she would not let worry defeat her. With one finger she stroked the petals of a Christmas rose, inhaling in the smell of pine she had conjured. Blunk was snuffling amid irises and myrtle, poking at the red heads of tulips and roses. Julian was playing with yarrow, an unconscious thing it seemed for he paid no mind to whether the flowers were crushed between his hands nor to the yellow they stained his skin with. This was understandable. He was a father and his son had once again gone gallivanting off to war.

 _"It's not a_ war _," Julian had reiterated when she had asked from fear. "It is not a war, just a glorified riot created by upstarts with nothing better to do than fight."_

 _He was not convincing, even to himself it seemed. More so because surely he knew firsthand how such riots could turn to war._

The teenager concentrated and several daisies bloomed near her feet. _Good._ She had been studying the language of flowers and daisies could symbolise hope. As long as there was hope, there was a chance everything could turn out alright.

Then footsteps came, too hurried to be anything good. Several daisies wilted. In stubbornness she waved a hand and a hundred more sprung up between the orchids and the heliotropes, all good and well and safe.

"I have news of the uprising and our efforts to subdue it!"

Julian stood first like a bullet from the barrel of a gun, the other two there swiftly following his example.

"What is it?" the man demanded.

"The Commander's company," the messenger panted. "It has returned. There are more than a few injured, some are grievously so."

"And what of my son?"

A pause. A heinous, hideous pause. Something crossed the messenger's face, too quick too be caught but too potent not to be. It was the same flickered something that was exaggerated on all those romantic movies that the flaxen haired beauty had always felt mediocre about, that Will watched with gusto (that were the secret crush of Irma when she took a night to herself), the ones where one lover went off and someone else came back with a message that made widows of broken hearts, the ones where-

 _No…_

It couldn't be. He wouldn't do that too her. The scent of pine stubbornly grew stronger as she held onto the hope in her heart.

The messenger opened his mouth. She could sense it in the air. There were three words. Three words and only three. "Caleb was-"

The Queen's garden exploded. All at once there were many things growing, even more things withering and dying, and about the entire earth there hung an air of despair so wretched that the messenger choked on his words. The scent of pine was swallowed by the ranker scent of dead leaves. Every iris and daisy wilted and rotted to nothing. In their place sprung the soft petals of primroses that seemed to be crying in silent anguish. The girl's hands flew to her face. _Not without you! I can't- Not without you._

The red roses turned a darker crimson, a bloody one, and poppies grew between their sharpened thorns. Marigolds in their flaming hues and peonies with their deceptive ones tangled with pink carnations and the round, ruffled heads of zinnias. Purple broke these bright colours, soft and sad and grieving and bunched in the little flowers of the hyacinth, the periwinkle, the morning glory that bade an early farewell to life. White too was there, stark against all the dead leaves. There was the distinctive shape of lilies. The little faces of hawthorn blooms. The full, round heads of chrysanthemums. With the ferns the snowdrop, drooping even further now beneath the weight of loss. With the rosemary the dainty bell flower and its many bowed heads. Amidst it all stood a single yellow daffodil. The girl closed her eyes. What other misfortune could there be now that this had come? Those blue eyes fell open again, more out of weariness than defiance. The vibrant faces of anemones, each with their lonely black eye, stared back at her. They had swallowed up the grass. Such beautiful flowers with such a short life. _Too short._

Half a minute and the entire garden had been overrun by grief.

It was- It felt as though there was a hand around her heart, as those Cedric's hand was around it, gripping it, squeezing and crushing and leaving nothing but a void smeared with the result of a tragic love. It was the rise and fall of the violins' lament in Shostakovich's ' _Symphony No. 5_ ' played in an eerie D minor, the softness that it could reach in its grim truth, the quiet harp, and the quiet flutes that captured the air and returned it to misery, and beneath it all the dark power that spoke of death and fear and grief and begged the question why. Why? Why? Why was this so? Why did such pain exist? The tremor of the lonely oboe, of the lonely clarinet, the solemness of the lonely flute – this was more than just a heartache, it was the soul of Meridian's past, perhaps of its future and now he was- He was- It was wretched and horrible and wrong. He was gone, and the flowers kept blooming, the bloody roses and marigolds, the ferns and white chrysanthemums, and that single daffodil, still standing tall and- And-

Then words broke through the thicket, more words than just the three. "Let him finish speaking. Cornelia, let him finish." Then to the messenger, more sharply. "Caleb was _what?_ "

"Injured!" The word arrived as a gasp, as air to starving lungs, as Hay Lin in those times when nothing short of air could strive against the great horrors that crushed life. "Caleb was injured. His men took him straight to the healers."

She could breathe again, the girl could breathe, and the lover too, and the air she breathed seemed to break the grip that was crushing her heart. A hand moved to grasp hers, large and much like her own father's, strong and kind and warm. Another hand eased its way into hers as well, this one large and rough and stinking, but welcome all the same. Both hands reminded her that she was not alone. She did not have to go through this alone.

That she would not be alone in strangling the idiot who had gotten himself hurt yet again.

Julian was speaking further, getting as many details as he could though the messenger himself seemed to know little about Caleb and the overall outcome of the battle other than that the rebels had been subdued, though many had escaped into the surrounds of the place they had attacked. There were a few dead, more of theirs than the Queen's own men. The Earth Guardian was dumbfounded as to why there would be any who were willing to die to usurp a decent ruler after such a string of bad ones and the causalities recent conflict, but that was an issue to ponder another time. Instead she listened to how Caleb had been the target of five of the best trained rebels, how Aldarn had deflected a final blow that would have been all too final after Caleb himself had been injured deflecting another. All this the messenger had received second-hand – Aldarn was still with Caleb at the healers and would have to report to the Queen immediately after his friend was stabilised. It was not long before all the information the messenger had to give was given and he quickly took his leave.

The teenager from Earth raised her chin, determined. Very rarely she doubted herself when it was clear something needed to be done. To Julian she turned. "Do you know where the healers are?"

He nodded.

"Come on, then," she said, flipping her hair and regaining control all at once. "I owe Aldarn a kiss."

"You do not think Caleb will be jealous?" Julian asked, the ghost of amusement twitching at the edges of his grim lips.

"Blunk will kiss Aldarn too," Blunk said in earnest. "Aldarn saved Caleb's life. Blunk very grateful."

"I am too, Blunk," Julian sighed. He suddenly looked as old as he had when the Guardian of Earth had first seen him (even now she still had the odd nightmare about those mines).

"The sooner we see his annoying face, the better," she said when silence had reigned on for too long. Slender hands went to slender hips and graceful feet took a step forward before they faltered.

Julian regarded her with concern. "Are you alright?"

She smiled at him, the expression once more filled with grace and poise and all the determination that kept mountains from shaking during storms. "I am alright, thank you." A pause. "Are you?"

The man gave her a tight smile but did not answer her question. Instead he offered his arm. The Earth Guardian took it wordlessly. It was not for her to push the issue. Still…

Halting their progress, the teenager stooped to the ground. This action caused Blunk to bump into her heels, but she ignored it in favour of plucking the four new flowers from the ground. To her two companions she gave one each, keeping the last two blooms for herself. It was a protea. Courage in the shape of a hardy plant. Most likely Julian did not know this, but the flash in his eyes showed he understood the gesture well enough. Blunk too, for the passling had placed the flower in the collar pocket of his shirt. The one who had grown them placed her own two in her hair. It was, at its core, a gesture of solidarity. None of them would be facing what was to come alone.

* * *

 **So...**

 **Flower symbolism:**

 _Pine; Iris_ = hope

 _Myrtle; Orchid; Red rose; Red tulip; Yarrow_ = love (yarrow is also used to staunch bleeding wounds. Ehhehe… Foreshadowing perhaps.)

 _Heliotrope_ = eternal love

 _Christmas rose_ = anxiety

 _Dead leaves_ = sadness

 _Primrose_ = I can't live without you

 _Dark crimson rose_ = mourning

 _Poppy_ = oblivion; eternal sleep; associated with war related death

 _Marigold_ = grief; despair

 _Peonies_ = anger

 _Pink carnation_ = I will never forget you

 _Zinnias_ = I miss you; in memory of a friend/someone absent

 _Purple hyacinth_ = sorrow; please forgive me

 _Periwinkle_ = flower of death

 _Morning glory_ = mourning; farewell; brevity of life; departure; mortality

 _Lily_ = death; soul of the dead has received restored innocence after death

 _Hawthorn_ = abandonment

 _Chrysanthemums_ = death; lamentation; grief

 _Fern_ = sorrow

 _Snowdrop_ = death

 _Rosemary_ = remembrance; love; death; associated with war related death (for us Australians)

 _White bell flower_ = loss

 _Single daffodil_ = foretells misfortune (daffodils also represent death of youth)

 _Anemone_ = forsaken; early death

 _Protea_ = courage

 **Shostakovich's 'Symphony No. 5' in D minor - look it up. Absolutely chilling. He composed it while Stalin was in power in the Soviet Union and the terror that took place during this time (the height of Stalin's purges - he and his family/friends were also under threat for a previous work of his). Then I realised how well it fit Meridian's history.**

 **Cornelia jumped the gun here (meanwhile I update at about the pace of an Iceberg so apologies for that; also apologies for the absolute glee I felt when writing Cornelia's reaction). I've deliberately tried to avoid using her actual name in this because that's how the style ended up, so Julian using it now was just as deliberate. Update sometime later this week! I promise! More father & son and CxC moments too.**

 **If you forgive me, please review. It's good to know people still read this. Gives me incentive to write.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any shape or form.**

 **Note: this is based off the cartoon series.**

 **Here you go. Up a little later than I wanted (Caleb's dreams ended up taking a little bit more effort than anticipated - they're deeply symbolic; also Caleb sticking his foot in it repeatedly took a while too), but ah well. Still a lot quicker than my last update took.**

 **Warning! This contains swearing. Also a VERY brief discussion of suicidal thinking (no one is actually suicidal here). Also some very disconcerting dreams.**

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 _He didn't know where he was. It was this thought that muted everything else in his mind. There was darkness. There was the smell of copper and iron. There was a high-pitched sound, shrill and persistent like the music from one of those horror movies Irma had made him watch. Everything was wet. Warm and wet and wrong._

 _He didn't know where he was._

 _This thought was not as alarming as it should have been. His hands moved and the wetness moved with it, flowing easily around him to fill the void his movements had left. He moved again. The wetness flowed around him still, easy and warm and thick. It was still dark, but the darkness seemed a comfort, familiar in a way that made his limbs heavy with the will to stop fighting and just sink into its embrace. So he did, despite the thing humming in the back of his mind. Despite that persistent question: where was he?_

 _It was a peaceful thing, sinking. Down and down and down, an endless monotony, an endless state of frozen time in which nothing hurt or gave hurt to something else. The darkness was getting darker, though the wetness stayed the same, as warm and thick as it was before. The shrill noise was getting louder. He frowned. It was beginning to grate on his nerves._

 _Suddenly his lungs felt tight._

 _Sinking did not seem so peaceful now, his lungs made sure of that. For a while he could ignore them, tune out their little spasms like he tuned out the warning bells ringing in his head. But soon the ache became too great to ignore. He rubbed his chest. This did nothing. He rubbed it again more forcefully, the wetness flowing around his movements. His lungs simply ached harder. The youth's frown grew deeper. Where was he?_

 _Then another question: why were his lungs aching so badly?_

 _There had to be a reason. Perhaps if he found it he could go back to that peaceful sinking. He rubbed his chest. It was hard to think… Closing his eyes helped a little, though he had already been in darkness. What was it he was forgetting? It was hard to think…_

 _Something about air. A big grin and cheery face. A sunrise painting hanging on a wall. Wind quick to flit wherever it went. Wind. Air. Something about air. His lungs were burning._

Up.

 _It was a thought in a voice that was not his own._

Go up.

 _Firm and fierce and gentle and king. Drenched in rosemary. Drenched in the sweet scent of jasmine. Intoxicating. Almost as good as air to his groaning lungs._

Up. Go up. Up. Up.

 _He went up._

 _It was hard to move at first. The darkness and wetness didn't want to let him go, grasped onto his limbs and twined around them like the tentacles of some great beast. That shrill sound was had turned to shrieking now, attempt to deafen him to everything else. It was wrong. He was sure of this now. It shrieked and felt wrong. Where was he?_ Where _was he?_

 _The youth moved his hands harder. Moved his arms now and kicked his legs, pulling himself forward by force if the wetness would not let him move through peacefully, chasing that mingled scent of rosemary and jasmine that cut through the copper that filled his nose._

Go up.

 _That voice – gentle, sweet, a more tantalizing a thing than the darkness that also beckoned him towards it. He followed it like he would a tether in a storm. A beacon on a foggy night. A friend's horn in a battle. A knight his waiting lover._

Go up. I am here.

 _Lungs now screaming, he burst to the surface. Filtered light streaked down upon him and red glittered all around where it landed. He was in a lake of blood. It stretched as far as his eyes could see, the lake's banks only a distant thing spotted with blood-drenched mushrooms. Something large lumbered among them on four great legs, though it was too far away to put a name too. The youth felt no will to move towards them. Now he could breathe again, he felt little will at all, not content and not discontent. There and not there at all._

 _Treading where he floated to stay afloat, the youth lingered in that strange limbo for what seemed the passing and ending of many eons of many worlds. Perhaps Phobos no longer existed he thought at one point. Perhaps, now, Cedric had ceased as well. That stagnant time passed on and it seemed plausible that even_ she _was gone, that old and heinous witch who had-_

 _Even in limbo it was too much to think on._

 _He trod blood and stared blankly at its red expanse. At some point a duck paddled past, quacking and dunking its head into the blood though it never seemed to catch anything of substance. At another point something else swam by just below the lake's crimson surface. Its outline in the filtered light was that of a turtle. It was swimming towards the shore. A dolphin traced a graceful arch on the horizon._

 _He turned back the other way, the way the duck had went. He wondered where he was._

 _For a long while nothing happened. There was filtered light and a bloody lake and him. For a long while nothing happened._

 _Then the lake began to flow inwards around him. The shrill sound was back and growing shriller by the moment. He tried to cover his ears and almost drowned. There were ducks again, more than one now, more than a hundred and all sat still upon the lake in a circle around him, completely silent and beady gazes fixed inwards. Ever inwards. The youth turned his gaze inwards too._

 _A flower of blood rose from the lake's center, dripping its gruesome substance from ruffled petals back into the liquid that had birthed it. There was a name for it – someone had told him once. Red ones near as dark as the blood he was in was meant to capture the best affairs of the heart. Up and up the flower rose, until its bloody head had completely unfolded in all its ruffled glory. It was like a monster's gaping maw, wide and dripping._

 _Perhaps he should have been afraid. Yet, he felt detached, as though he were ghost hanging over the scene playing out before him. Like a puppet with all but one string cut he swam listlessly towards the bloody bloom._

 _The scent of rosemary and jasmine grew incessantly strong._

 _He brushed a petal. There was white beneath the blood._

Caleb woke to a hand stroking his hair and the sweet smell of flowers hanging over him. Rosemary. Jasmine. A sweeter smell of someone he knew. His eyes flickered.

"Hello."

That voice. There was something about that voice.

"Is he awake?" Another voice spoke, this one deeper and rougher and rawer. He knew this one too.

Then a pungent smell, nauseating and familiar. "Can Caleb hear?"

There was movement. He slipped back into dreams.

 _This time he was at the lake's edge. The bleeding flower was gone. There were mushrooms between his toes. They dripped redness onto him beneath that same filtered light as before. A turtle was slowly pulling itself up onto the shore. There was a careful grace to its movements as moved among a thicket of red ruffled flowers – carnations. The word came to him now, though he was unsure of what it meant. He watched the turtle. It disappeared into the undergrowth._

 _He walked._

 _There were footprints to follow if he looked down, large ones with a span greater than his hand. Some great beast had made them. He studied one absently. Inside it a plant was sprouting, green leaves unfurling beneath a tall stem that filled itself with tiny indigo flowers. They remained in the footprints alone, the only thing untouched by the blood and red filtered light in this strange place._

 _Where was he?_

 _He walked._

 _It was a while before he stopped again, this time in a field of daisies. Their white petals dripped the same red as everything else. He laid down. They smelled of rosemary and jasmine. Distant sounds washed over him, soothing and confusing all at once._

"Caleb, can you wake for me? Please?"

"It is fine to let him sleep. He lost much blood." Hands touched him, unfamiliar and yet safe, professional in a way that many weren't. "I shall take my leave now. Send for me when he wakes again."

"Thank you."

Lips pressed to his. "Come back to me."

 _There was movement in the daisies beside him. He rolled his head towards it. After a moment the turtle appeared, two doves now perched atop its shell. Each held a white rose in their beaks. The roses wept blood._

Those hands again, patting his cheeks. "Come now. Caleb, can you hear me? Open your eyes. That's it."

The youth squinted up at the blur above him. Even that action made him feel dizzy. Like he would be sick. There was an ache in his head, a pounding that would not subsist. It grew stronger the longer his eyes stayed open.

"Caleb, do you know where you are?"

Somewhere he didn't want to be, he knew that. Not if being there made his head hurt as it did. And his arm. It was as though his arm had been set on fire. Caleb groaned.

"Drink this."

The pain curbed his desire to resist. He drank obediently as something was pressed against his lips. It did nothing to reduce the pain, but it did reduce the parchedness of his throat and rid it of the metallic taste that had come to rest there. A hand brushed his hair, a slender one this time. A familiar one. He leaned into it and closed his eyes, turning once more to dreams.

 _The turtle was crawling past his arm now, the two doves gone and some purple flower with four leaves and a white star in the middle in their place upon its shell. He watched it until it had disappeared again amongst the bobbing daisies. The youth turned his head back to the side. His gaze landed upon that strange footprint and the indigo flowers within it. There were more footprints after it, all pointing in the same direction._

 _Curiosity got the better of him. He stood and followed them._

 _The filtered light was less thick now, less heavy than it had been. It settled on everything as a butterfly might rather than as a stone bent on crushing all beneath it. Soon enough he had left the field of daisies behind, had come to a sort of steppe and stepped onto its dry dirt. Sprigs of a plant with tiny white puffy flowers dotted the horizon, swaying in wind that seemed as gentle as a babe's breath. It was raining red. The raindrops were warm and sticky. They soaked their redness into his skin, a dye that sunk beneath the flesh to mingle with his own sordid blood. It burned._

 _He closed his eyes and burned. Yet, the flames gave not pain, but life._

 _Nearby his feet that turtle crawled, heedless of the rain and heedless of the light that might had singed it on this unprotected plain. Slow and graceful as always, it crawled on across the great expanse of land before it. Beneath the swaying plants, beneath the hooves of two horses come to dance their wild dance in the rain, beneath that rain and all its redness until that redness filled the plain and swallowed the turtle up._

 _He closed his eyes. Opened them. The world had changed to a mirrored room that had caught him in an endless loop of reflecting. He was not alone in the room. There were lilacs here, white and full in bloom, also caught in the mirrors' gaze. They seemed a solemn thing. Seemed a child in a world large enough to crush each dainty petal and leave it for the beetles to feast on. He touched one, stroked it as he would a lover's hand. It was soft. Smooth. Pure in a way that very little was. Wistful._

 _He felt like a child bidding farewell to his home._

 _The white petals were not to remain white, however. Soon enough something overhead broke with a tinkle and a steady trickle of red fell upon the lilacs. From the topmost flower it dripped in cascading shower onto all the flowers beneath, onto all the leaves and further still to pool on the ground and spiral to the center of the room. A bud appeared in its middle, clean of all the blood around it. It grew and grew and grew. The blood turned stagnate and it grew._

 _Then it bloomed._

 _Pink petals unfolded one row after the other until the center of the flower had been revealed. It floated atop the bloody pool untouched by its foulness._ A lotus _, he thought. Something he remembered from a distant world in a distant life._

 _The mirrors reflected the flower a dozen times and a dozen times over until every reflective surface was filled with a lotus. It drowned out the youth's own image. Drowned out the bloodied lilacs and the blood pool on the floor. He bent to sniff the bloom and rosemary and jasmine were the scents he was met with. The turtle's head rose from beneath the pool's surface and he stroked its head. There it stayed, quiet and calm._

 _A spotless ladybug flew by. On instinct he clasped it in his hands. A moment later and he opened them to watch it fly away into its infinite reflections. He turned and gazed at the mirrored wall before him. A bear stared back._

Caleb's eyes flew open. The dregs of some image trickled through the cracks in his mind, its content potent and disconcerting though he couldn't remember exactly what this content was. He blinked. A hand grasped his left one with the firmness of overwhelming relief.

"Caleb. Son," a voice breathed.

He turned his head and gazed into his father's shining eyes. He looked away. Memories of how they had left things welled up in his head, his still aching head, and he didn't want to go there. Not now. Maybe not ever. If _she_ was never mentioned again it wouldn't be soon enough.

"Drink this. The healer says you have a lot of lost blood to make up for."

A cup was pressed to his lips and he drank. Sips at first and then more deeply. A hand stroked his head, pushed his hair back from his face. Caleb struggled to rise against the mattress that he laid upon.

"Easy, easy," Julian told him, putting aside the cup in favour of placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "How do you feel?"

Caleb groaned. Dragged a hand to his head – not his right hand for that arm ached terribly, though the pain had dulled from before – and held it there as though he could suppress the thing causing him pain by sheer force alone. His father stroked his hair again. When Caleb looked back to him he frowned. There was a strange flower tucked behind his ear.

Julian noticed him looking and gave a soft smile. "It is from that lady of yours. She gave one to Blunk as well."

Something moved by his feet and the passling revealed himself, wide eyes and a flower of his own tucked into his shirt. Yet, for all that it appeared he wanted to cry out, his friend did not. For that Caleb was grateful. His head hurt too much for shrieking.

"Where-" He licked his lips, throat still dry despite the water he had drunk. His hand drifted to his head again. The world was spinning. He wanted to drift back to sleep, but this was more important. Infinitely more important. He tried again. "Where-"

This tip it was another set of lips that cut him off. Soft and tender ones, chaste ones for all the frenzy they kissed him with. When they drew apart, Caleb exhaled in a single breath all the air that his lungs had held and raised his head to the one above him to fill his lungs with air of another kind. This kiss was, however, shorter and she drew away far too soon.

"You are hurt," she said, smiling as she tapped his nose with a finger. There were worry lines around her eyes, around her mouth and Caleb wished he had enough control of his limbs to smoothly brush them away. As it was, his hand was clumsy and rough. She came to hold it in her own, pressed a kiss against it. "Get better and then we can kiss properly."

That was incentive indeed. He grinned. "Tomorrow then."

A delicate eyebrow raised as his father coughed. "I don't think so. The doctor said it will be a few days before you are up again-"

"And that you will still experience some weakness for a while after," his father finished. "So I do not think-"

"That tomorrow we will be kissing as you want."

Caleb raised his eyebrows. Since when had his love and his father tossed words between them like twins joined together since birth?

She laughed, beautiful and full and all the sound he wanted to hear forever even if it meant he heard nothing else. He tried to kiss her again. She bopped him with the same sort of flower that his father had. "The doctor said you needed rest."

"A lot of it," his father added.

"Even if your male ego-"

"Your _young_ male ego-"

"Sorry. Your young male ego wants something else."

"And rest is better spent lying in bed-"

"Then kissing beautiful girls."

"You think you're beautiful?" he asked. The jest behind his words was muted by the slur that tiredness gave them.

"Of course." She bopped him with that flower again then placed it on the little stand beside his bed. His father chuckled.

Caleb felt another wave of confusion. Clearly the two had been doing some bonding while he had been out. The thought spurred another-

"How long?"

"You can worry about that later," Julian answered. He stroked his son's hair again. "For now just focus on resting."

"No." Caleb frowned, forcing his tired mind back over all that had come to pass in the last few days. "I need-"

"Sleep." And now they were playing dirty. Her lips ghosted over his brow, her slender hands atop his chest in a placating and insistent manner as she pinned him to the bed. He sometimes forgot there was a strength to her that the dainty beauty hid, a hardness that had made her the Guardian of Earth. "Just sleep."

Flaxen hair brushed over his face as she retreated. The scent of rosemary and jasmine came to hang heavy in the air. It made his already drowsy self drowsier and the pain drifted into nothing but the faint tingling of what once had been. The world seemed to spin once, twice-

Caleb closed his eyes. He slept and this time he did not dream.

When Caleb next woke he conversed with several people. The healer who had attended him. The Queen. Vathek who had some choice words to say about upstarts and his ability to wield a sword and shield (they were only mildly offensive given everything that had happened). Drake stopped by and had the good sense to leave his lute elsewhere. A new sort of normal settled into place.

The young commander was confined to his room again by the orders of both the Queen and the healers that had tended to him the bloody night before. And it had been bloody. The initial ambush. The fight. His comrades who-

Caleb grimaced. Frowned. Went to rub his face and was abruptly reminded of why he was confined to his rooms in the first place.

All in all, the gash he had received was not that bad. It was long and deep and he had lost a lot of blood, but it was the blood loss which was been the worst of it. It could have been a lot worse. If his instincts were slower than the gash would have been across his throat. If Aldarn's instincts had been slower the next gash would have been across his throat for sure.

He had to thank his friend later. He wasn't prepared to die quite yet.

At least the orders of being confined were not so bad – he still couldn't move much, could not get out of bed if he tried. That in itself was frustrating, and it overrode the frustration that the orders might have otherwise brought. His mind was clearer this time round in the waking world and he cursed the waking world for it. For making things that trapped his mind in an endless cycle of blood and guilt and duty.

He was tired of fighting, but ever it seemed there was always fighting to be done and it wanted him to do it.

He was tired. That was all.

She was playing with his hands whilst Blunk sat by his feet – the passling had rarely left since he had woken the first time – and his father in a chair elsewhere in the room reading a report someone had given him. Caleb had reports to read too; the threat of an uprising meant that the commander had little time to rest even when he was injured. For now, however, he had decided to take a break which had been encouraged by her sweet lips on his.

Sometimes he wondered why anyone thought he would get any work done when she was visiting Meridian. Perhaps it was because they had worked well during the last few times Meridian had been in need of its powerful allies from Earth.

 _Maybe Meridian is in need of them again._ He frowned almost unconsciously as the phrase bounced around in his mind. It was not one he wanted to have. They had won. But they had won before. Before _her._

Another phrase took up residence in his head, a phrase one of the upstarts had thrown at him in battle: _"Do you think we will take another ruler like_ them _sitting down? Another ruler to dictate everything we do?"_

They had won. They were the good guys (weren't they?) and they had won.

(Then why were people asking questions? Asking questions like _those_?)

"Hey there." A finger bopped his nose with more finesse than Irma ever managed and more control than Hay Lin's enthusiastic gesture. "What are you thinking about?"

"A beautiful girl in my bedroom."

Somewhere to the side his father coughed pointedly. Caleb shot him a sheepish, though unapologetic grin.

"Mm-hm." Another bop. "What are you really thinking about?"

"Sunflower hair and sky-blue eyes."

"Sunflower hair?"

"You're the brightest sunflower I've ever seen." He was sure his father was rolling his eyes.

"Nice try. Go again."

Caleb tried fluttering his eyelashes this time. "Can a boyfriend not wax poetic about his girlfriend?"

"He can," she answered easily, "When he knows _how_ to wax poetic." She sat back. He pouted. "Now tell me what's making you frown, or I'll go and fetch Irma to arm wrestle it out of you."

"She couldn't beat me in an arm wrestle."

One raised eyebrow, perfectly shaped. "Do you want to bet on it?"

Two could play at this game. He raised his own eyebrow. "Do you?"

"No betting on anyone," his father broke in. Caleb regarded him with the same raised eyebrow.

"I'm sure Vathek mentioned you betting on what Aldarn's first word would be when-"

"And I am sure Vathek will enjoy being engaged by Drake's latest song." Julian looked up, face as straight as it had been when he led the Rebels to their just (it had to have been just) cause. "Do you want to join him?"

"Point taken. No betting."

"You are avoiding my question." Now she was fixing him with a serious gaze, the kind of gaze that pinned one to whatever it was they were against with no hope of escape.

"It's nothing." He gestured at the reports on his lap. "Just the situation."

She took up his hands and gave him a smile that suddenly seemed watery. It was disconcerting. She was usually so strong. " _I'm_ worried."

Caleb smiled through his own worry. "It will be fine."

"I'm sure. Elyon's a fantastic Queen and her best fighter is mighty fine too."

"Thank you."

"Of course, there's also you." She flipped her hair, making a show of preening.

"As long as you don't tell Irma that I'm below her in fighting capabilities."

She gave him a look that was somewhere between amused and sad. "She doesn't get injured like you."

He could have made a joke, would have if she were anyone else. But she was his one love, flowers and earth and all the good things he knew. Rosemary and jasmine and something more. He raised his left hand to her cheek. "I am fine. I have had worse."

"That's not reassuring."

"Then perhaps this is." Pushing up off the bed, he met her lips in a chaste kiss, barely brushing them as his eyes spoke everything that could not be said. He would fight to be with her, always. So long as duty did not take him first.

Sometimes he feared duty would take him first. This new injury was just another example of how close he came to that terrifying thing named death. He had never wanted to die.

Without realising, he had stilled. His throat felt tight as though someone were strangling him. A quiet moment passed and fingers like silken petals stroked his cheek.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Flashes. Blood and dirt and the clang of steel on steel. His arm was beginning to ache again. His mind was spiraling back down that hole where it had fallen before.

(They _had_ to be the good guys. Too many had died for them not to be.)

"Caleb."

"I'm fine."

His father shifted on his chair as he set aside the report in his hands, but it was the girl with flaxen hair who spoke first. "You're not. I don't know if you've noticed, but I can tell when something's bothering you."

"Well, you are wrong."

"I'm not." A slender hand hover above his cheek. "You know you can tell me, tell us anything."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there's not."

"Caleb, there _is_ something."

"There is _not_." The youth took up a sharper tone now, his hands starting to clench as the flashes kept coming. A sword aiming for his throat. A sword running through his arm. Knelt on the ground, a sword swinging for his neck. Another going through the neck of someone else. Giant hands grabbing at him. Giant spider legs trying to skewer him like a stick a bug. Knives. Arrows. Rope. Rocks. Water. Drowning in water filled with monsters all ravenous enough to eat him.

 _Stop! Stop! Stop!_ But it wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. He was needed. His duty called him forth once more into the dripping jaws of danger and he had to heed the call. Had to be strong. Together. Whole enough to create the illusion that he was whole in full.

"I'm not blind," she was saying. "You are upset. Unsettled. Tell me what's wrong. Sometimes it helps to let it out. It helps to talk about it."

Flashes. Knives. Swords. Rope. Water. Drowning. Falling. Hands around his throat. It was his duty. His damned, damned duty. He had to be fine. _Had_ to be. But there was a crack, an ominous crack deep inside that emitted a noxious shadow over everything around it, mocking, beckoning, coaxing him forward to where he didn't want to go-

Like a great bubbling geyser, the words burst forth from his mouth. "I don't want to talk about it!"

She frowned deeper still. " _Caleb_ -"

"No! Don't 'Caleb' me. Just leave me alone."

"I'm only trying to help-"

"Then try helping someone who wants it," Caleb bit out and at another time he might have beat himself black and blue for the tone he used against her. "I don't want it. I don't need it. Stop wasting your time."

"Maybe I _should_ leave then," and if his tone was scathing than hers was like a hundred thorns being dragged though his skin.

He huffed. Turned his head away in petulance so she couldn't see the tears that were threatening to form. "Fine!"

"Fine!" She turned her back on him, her hair swishing through the air like a whip. "I'm going to see Elyon. Then I'm going home. Goodbye, Caleb. Goodbye, Julian and Blunk."

Then his love, his light, his world left the room with her nose held to the air in a graceful show of disdain for him. He sunk further into the covers, breathing in the scent of rosemary and jasmine that remained even still.

"You should not have spoken to her like that."

"What would you know?" The words left his mouth before he had fully thought them through. It was the curse of being young and mad and scared.

"I know that she was trying to help you," his father snapped back. "And I know that girls, that women do not like to be told they are wasting their time on someone they love."

"Did _she_ hate that?" The comment hit below the belt and they all knew it. Blunk drew back from him, wide eyed and biting his lip. A cage. The image of a cage stood bold in his mind with its flickering blue bars that sapped the strength from every fiber of him. He _hated_ that woman (and it hurt to have such hate, badly hurt another more childish part of him he had abandoned long ago).

"I never told her any such thing."

Caleb refused to look at him. "Did you have the perfect relationship then until she abandoned you?" _And me._ But that was implied.

"No."

"Did you fight? Part ways on a sour note? Call each other names? Abuse each other?" He was bitter. Perhaps at his father as well as _her_ , somewhere deep in that crack inside him. It was not a thought he wanted to explore further.

"No. Our relationship was short but bore the illusion of being good and whole," Julian replied.

"Then how can you say that-"

"Your mother was a liar and an evil bitch of a woman," his father cut in, tone harsher than perhaps it should have been. "I was a fool who fell for her charms because I was besotted by her looks and by her power and her apparent charms. I got you out of it and you are the only good thing that came from her. But she deceived me to get you and you cannot build a good relationship on a foundation deception and lies."

"Do you think _I_ am lying, then? To her, my lady as you say?"

A pause, telling enough. Caleb astutely kept his gaze averted.

"I think you are lying to yourself," his father said slowly.

The admission made Caleb's skin prickle unpleasantly. "So I am a liar. Do I get that from _her_?"

"You aren't-"

"She made me and everything she has evil in it, yes?" His hands were clenching again, turning to the sort of fists where nails bit at his skin.

"Being in denial does not make you evil."

"But being the son of a bitch like that does, does it not? People give Tynar looks for what he was before he joined our cause and people give me looks, though they are fewer, for what I am because of what _she_ was. We cannot escape who our parents are or their legacy it seems."

The youth had not told anyone of such things in all the time since his mother had named herself as such. They had occurred – they would always occur for his mother, _his_ mother, had sought to enslave and destroy Meridian. For some that meant the child was also culpable. Perhaps they weren't as wrong as he hoped in those lonely nights when the few looks he saw got to him more than they should. It had been his duty to keep the Queen safe, to keep Meridian safe and yet both had fallen into evil's hands once more. Right under his nose.

"Son," Julian began, a pain in his voice that his son had not heard before. "People are fearful and that can make them do stupid things. Think stupid things. You are not your mother and have nothing of her nature inside you."

"We share the same eyes." He was not blind. He had gazed into those same green eyes whenever they had met across a battlefield, when he had been locked behind bars of _her_ making. "We share stubbornness. Bullheadedness. Ambition. Drive. The ability to leave destruction wherever we go."

"Caleb! She is your mother, not you." His father tried and failed to grasp his hand. "She is evil who seeks to bring evil to life-"

"If she is my mother, should I want to die then?" Caleb roared. "Should I want to put the evil thing she left inside me out permanently?"

There was silence. Time passed by like raindrops falling through a bog.

His father sat with his head in his hands. He looked older than he had any right to be. Caleb's heart cringed. He hated seeing his father look so…defeated.

" _Do_ you want to die?" the bearded man finally asked in a shaking voice, clearly voicing a fear he could not shake.

Caleb blinked, only partly from the lingering weariness of blood loss. A frown creased his forehead when the words completely sunk in. "What sort of question is that?" Anger took root in his chest. "What sort of question is that? Do you think I'm some sort of madman?"

"Sometimes I do not know what to think."

The words froze everything in his chest. His heart hung heavy like a stone in the cavity that housed it, and it seemed to crush him where he laid. His own father-

"Caleb, I do not mean to say that you are mad, but you worry me," his father said. "You will not talk about what it is that bothers you, you will not talk about the things we need to talk about, and it keeps spurring you to run. Perhaps such thoughts do lean towards the tendency of madness; I know in the mines I felt more than half mad most of the time." His words made Caleb feel immediately ashamed of his own previous ones, the youth remembering back to another conversation they had had not several days ago. His father continued. "But when people hold things in too long, they tend to lose sight of the things that tie them to this world."

Caleb pulled himself up, leaned forward, grasped his father's hands and looked him straight in the eye. "I do not want to kill myself. I never have."

Julian smiled. There was belief in it. "That is good to hear." Then the frown returned. "But you still will not speak of many things. Keeping them bottled up is dangerous."

Caleb's skin prickled and anger rolled back through him, made him defensive. He didn't want to touch that crack. "Why do you care what I do and do not keep bottled up?"

"Because I am your father!" the man shouted, finally reaching the end of his patience. "I am not losing you if I do not have to! Dammit, Caleb. I would rather that bastard who claimed himself king rip my heart out of my chest and devour it damning me to an afterlife spent in those fucking mines, than to see you hurt or dead by anything. I am your father! I raised you, alone, in the midst of a world that was tearing itself apart. I didn't lose you then. I will not lose you now. Not to anything. Certainly not to this misguided notion you have about duty and what you can and cannot show to others."

By now Blunk had taken cover beneath his friend's bedcovers, eager to avoid the angry mood of the room. Caleb had no such sense of self-preservation and rallied himself against his father's anger.

"Do you speak of duty lightly then?" he asked. "You have read the reports. We are on the brink of a civil war. Another rebellion because the people aren't happy with us. The rebels – that's what they are – have been spreading rumours. Gathering allies. They're not as strong as we were, but we weren't as strong in the beginning either. I know because Vathek told me, _you_ told me. I am the Queen's primary commander. It is my _duty_ to deal with this. Just as it was my duty to lead us through the Rebellion. Leaders don't have time to think, don't have time to give in to emotions that are not conducive to the efforts of everyone around them. I know what my duty is to Meridian. You should learn yours."

The air hung thick with tension, practically vibrating at every breath that was taken. Caleb stared his father down, his hands in fists and the skin on his palms certainly broken, but they were not shaking. He knew they weren't because he was right in this. He had his duty. His father had his own – not to him but to Meridian. They both knew this. Yet, his father was angry still.

"I have nothing to say to you," Julian eventually said, and his voice was broken and it was not. "If you will not listen to this than I have nothing more to say."

The man stood and with only one passing glance behind him, exited the room. Caleb watched him go wordlessly.

Against the foot of the bed Blunk moved.

"Well?" he asked, turning on the passling. "You have been surprisingly silent these past few days. Why? Do you have nothing to say to me either?"

Blunk frowned and shook his head.

"What is it then? Do you think that I'm incompetent at what I do? That I am out of my depth? That I have nothing to show for everything I've given and that the world is surely going to turn in on itself _again_ because I can do fuck all to hold it up!" And somehow it had become less about what Blunk thought and more about what he did. Caleb closed his eyes. He hoped that Blunk had not realised.

"No! No. Blunk doesn't think that about Caleb. Blunk was silent because Blunk was scared. Blunk thought he would lose Caleb. Blunk loves Caleb. Caleb is Blunk's only best friend."

Caleb frowned. "What about Hay Lin?"

"Smiling girl is not around always like Caleb is. Caleb take care of Blunk, always." Blunk shifted at the foot of the bed. His green face looked up hesitantly, almost shyly. "Blunk take care of Caleb now?"

"Sure." Caleb laid back against his pillows, the fight leaving him in one great hulking exhaled breath. He was defeated in more ways than one. "Blunk can help Caleb."

"How?"

How indeed. He couldn't begin to answer that one. He scarcely dared to try. But that flower she had given him, the one of whose companion Blunk possessed, caught his eye with all its wild form and vibrant colouring and he dared.

"Maybe…" He paused, rubbed his face, winced and rubbed his wounded arm more gently. "Maybe you could tell me how the others that were in my company are?"

Blunk obliged sparing no detail at his request and glossing over nothing in misguided kindness. It was not as bad as Caleb had feared. Most of those wounded would be up and about before him. As for those who would be up and about no longer- They had been sent off already to the afterworld that awaited the dead. There were no ghosts left to linger here and curse him for his foolishness, save those in his own head.

Blunk continued talking, speaking of Elyon's plans and how the others had advised her, of Vathek's complaints about the prisoners and his methods of dealing with them, of the murmurings in the city and the well-wishes that many had thought to give him when they had heard he had been injured. Eventually, the passling began to speak of mundane things, of how his mother was nagging at him to fix her favourite chair, and of all the newest things he had found across the world. His voice became soothing as it had during those moments in the Rebellion when it was just the two of them against everything and everyone else with nothing but each other and whatever wits they had about them. In those moments he had been sore and tired as he was now, his mind racing as it was now, filled with everything he could not bare to dwell on. In those moments it had been Blunk's voice that had stilled the anxiety which had grasped him, not banished it in full but held it off just enough that he could truly think clearly about what needed to be done. As foolish as it was, as childish as it was, it had been those moments where a sudden surety had come over him with the knowledge that he was not alone. That at the very least he had a stinking passling by his side that he could call a friend.

Caleb thought and then drew back from thinking. Things were still too raw. There were places that he did not want to go, not ever, though one day he would need to. Everything was a tangled mess and too complex a knot for him to untangle just then. The youth closed his eyes. Sometimes it was easier to just let others do the thinking. "What should Caleb do, Blunk?"

If Blunk was surprised by this question, he didn't show it. "Caleb should let others help him. Caleb should learn that he is not alone." The passling frowned. "Caleb needs to say sorry to his father."

A groan. "Caleb knows."

Blunk paused, fiddled with that infernal flower still in proudly peeping from his shirt. He bit his lip then chose to brave whatever it was he had to say. "Caleb needs to say sorry to pretty blonde girl too."

Caleb flopped back onto his bed with a sigh, throwing his good arm over his eyes. He was giving up. "I know."

* * *

 **So... Probably a bit rushed in the second half. Also probably completely butchered the effects of blood loss. Sorry.**

 **More flower symbolism:**

(Caleb's dream flowers/plants in the order that they appear: note he doesn't name all of them)

 _Rosemary_ = remembrance

 _Jasmine_ = love

 _Fungus (i.e. mushrooms)_ = resilience, loneliness, solitude

 _White Carnation_ = innocence; pure love

 _Dark Red Carnation_ = deep love and affection

 _Blue Salvia_ = long life; wisdom; good health (connected to healing)

 _Daisy (white)_ = innocence

 _White Rose_ = innocence; wistfulness; secrecy

 _Heliotrope_ = eternal love

 _Baby's breath_ = innocence; purity of heart

 _White Lilac_ = youthful innocence; memories

 _Lotus_ = rebirth

(Other flowers)

 _Protea =_ courage

 **Animal symbolism (as in Caleb's dream):**

 _Bear =_ strength; introspection; spiritual journey; healing

 _Duck_ = spirit of those who have passed on

 _Turtle_ = oldest symbol of Mother Earth (i.e. connects to another character…)

 _Dolphin_ = messenger of love

 _Dove =_ love

 _Horse =_ love

 _Ladybug =_ love (associated with Asian beliefs where if you caught and released one it would fly to the ear of your lover and whisper your name, and your lover would then come to your side; the number of spots indicates the number of months that will pass before the wish for love comes true – the one in his dream has no spots for a reason)

 **Fear not, CxC will not break up in this. It will be resolved. Eventually. ;) I'm annoyed because I somehow slipped away from talking about Cornelia's reaction to him being hurt in detail (argh...), but more of that shall come in one of the next two chapters.**

 **Thanks to those of you who have reviewed, favourited and/or followed this so far! We are not far off from the end now (I could go longer, probably, but I'd like to tie this up sooner rather than later). Hopefully I'll be able to finish before the year is up.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any shape or form.**

 **Note: this is based off the cartoon series.**

 **So, this took a while (I got major writer's block), but here it finally is. :)**

* * *

The light trudging through the open windows was orange. A subtle, yet vivid kind of orange that passed through its different shades into the soft blush of pink. Caleb sighed. Wished he was Hay Lin to drag the sky onto a piece of canvas and trap it there in that moment forever. In a sunrise there was no argument, no doubt, just those colours as the sun rose again and proved it had never died to the child who had never quite believed it had not. Come the clouds, come the rain – those colours would paint them anyway even if the sun itself did not shine wholly through.

Caleb sighed.

"What is Caleb to do?" A well-meaning question asked by a well-meaning friend. It flew to collect in the air with all the other uncertainties.

"Caleb doesn't know."

"Hrmph." Blunk crossed his arms. "Caleb always thinks of something."

The coldness with which she had turned, like a thousand razor sharp pieces of ice pricking at his skin, snaring him as a thorn bush might and drawing blood without remorse - what could he do to right it? What could he do to slow this freezing that he had brought about? In frost flowers did not bloom. "Caleb thinks he may have put his foot in his mouth too far this time."

He watched a dewdrop fall from some pale petal to the leaves below. Birds were chirping somewhere as they were wont to do at sunrise, having all the conversations birds had when daylight came. Caleb watched the dewdrop. Wondered if she was crying. He had not, but not out of any spite or pride or bravery. He was simply too exhausted for tears. The dewdrop fell to the stones that made the balcony and was lost between their cracks. Somehow it still felt more whole, more anchored than he did. Somehow…

He closed his eyes. "Caleb can't think of something. Not this time."

"And that is alright, you know."

He almost fell through the window and it was only because of his quick reflexes that Blunk did not. Hauling the shrieking passling back up to safety, Caleb turned and stared at the large, blue Galhot. He could feel his eyebrows moving in confusion, unsure if they should act surprised or shocked or mad or exasperated. At that moment it still felt as though they were caught up with the rest of him in an anchorless state that left him drifting through a fog so thick, so impenetrable that it covered every sense he had, smothered every scant part of him that there was. Blind, deaf, mute, tasteless and nerveless – he could hardly move a finger let alone comprehend the storm pulling him every which way. In the space of a second his eyebrows wiggled then stopped. The youth settled for rolling his eyes instead. Even that seemed too much an effort. "Stop screaming, Blunk. It's just Vathek."

"I am not sure if I should apologise or be offended at that," the5 Galhot said, though his grin gave him away as he bared his teeth at the passling who gave him no end of trouble.

"Blunk not steal big blue's food! Not Blunk! Not Blunk!" the passling cried.

"Now why would you be concerned about stolen food?"

"Leave him alone, Vathek," Caleb said. "He has been with me all night."

Vathek turned to him again, appraising the youth with those eyes of his that knew much and hid more. Spy's eyes, Drake had taken to calling them and spy's eyes they were. What secrets had they already pried from the depths of Caleb's heart? There were so many he had., so many he did not know himself.

"And what have you been doing this night, if not stealing bread?" Vathek said. He smiled something bittersweet and continued, never having really asked a question. "It _is_ alright not to know where to go from where you find yourself, to be... directionless, in a way."

Inside Caleb a little fire wearily raised its head in that internal storm. It was lukewarm at best, but still there, the remnants of a pride too tired to care. The youth even managed to grit his teeth as he replied, "What do you want?"

"Do not do this now," came Vathek's answer. "There has been enough of that, enough of this evasion. Look where it has gotten you."

Alone in his room save for Blunk and now Vathek, his father angry at him, her-

The fire in Caleb died once more. It was an unspectacular thing, just a single flailing flame sputtering quietly to smoke. That wisp of grey drifted away in the breeze. What else drifted away with it? How much of his had been scattered to nothing on the wind, lost forever by being too far spread in parts too small for any one person to collect in their hands and press back inside of themselves? Somewhere in a painted sky clouds shifted in their place. A friend clasped a friend by a window and in that clasping managed to hide the shaking of their hands.

"It is hard," Vathek said after a while had passed, a silent while spent by them all staring at the nothing as the sun gradually came to stroke the bustling landscape with its light. The Gahlot's hands fisted around the window ledge. "It is hard to learn to do away with evasion after you have needed it for so long. I chose to be a spy early on in our rebellion. It was not a hard choice; I had no family in these parts and no lover to answer to, a lonely existence perhaps, but one that could benefit our cause. I was proud to serve. I am proud to still serve. Yet, I cannot say that what I did has not left its impacts."

The rising sun still cast shadows on the land, on the window and on the wall beyond it, cut from the figures standing there as patterns are cut from cloth. The cuttings hung there like shades on the edge of vision, watching silently everything that went on. Caleb rested his head atop of Blunk's who was seated on the railing. Both listened as Vathek continued.

"Lies are impossible to avoid in spying, including lies about yourself," he said. "To many I was the cold jailer, the proud servant, the ruthless Gahlot. To others I was a friend or an acquaintance, someone with which to bemoan long hours and damp quarters. These I wore as needed, each a different coat to cast on or off so that I might better fit with my surrounds. Yet, it is hard to tell a total lie as you both know full well. Even the greatest of falsehoods hold a speck of truth within them. All the fables you were told as children began as a thought about a grandmother or old man or lost child who was never found. All the tales of fantastical creatures you and I will never see began as someone's first sighting of a new creature they did not quite yet understand. It is easier to suspend another's disbelief if you can conjure some semblance of the familiar in them, and it is easier to hold a lie if only part of it is a lie. Each of my coats bore a scrap of me within them. I am aloof and proud and ruthless, and these I used to my advantage by spinning myself a mask around them. It makes the lying easier, but it also makes the mask harder to take off. How can you cease being what you already are?

"So, you remain stuck as something you are not even while, in a little part, you are still yourself. It becomes tiring," the Gahlot said, "And it becomes a habit. At times I find myself still slipping into those masks, still slipping on those coats as though this were the old Kingdom and I a spy again. I see the faces of friends and think to myself that they do not know the true me. I join in a bout of laughter and think that they cannot suspect my secrets now. I walk the many halls here and wonder if have figured out the lies I have told, and wonder what would become of me if they do. It is easy, then, to be lost to fear for Phobos and his men were never kind. It is easy to don another mask, another coat and keep lying. It is easy to let my real self fade back into the shadows. It is easy to become someone else to everyone else. It is easy. It is…tiring."

The former spy's eyes were drawn to where two birds flitted about, calling to each other their morning songs of greeting. They dipped and weaved. They spun on a whim in the air. Their actions were mirrors, their playing like love. Not the love of a lover, perhaps, but a deeper sort of love that can only come from a heart free to do so in full.

"Blunk has not been anything but Blunk," the passling said solemnly.

Vathek blinked. Then his lips tweaked into a soft smile. "Of course you have not."

Caleb did not speak. He had been nothing but himself…and he had not. It felt traitorous to admit.

"Then why tell this?" Blunk asked, either braver or more naïve than his silent friend.

"Because it needs telling."

He did not say why. He did not have to. The birds did their dance and Vathek knew that his reasoning was known by the one whom he had spoken for.

"What else do you have to say?" Caleb asked somewhat wearily, ready for this thing, whatever it was, to be over and leave him to his misery.

"That depends," Vathek said. "You have been hurt."

"It is healing well enough." Yet, even as his hand went to his arm, Caleb knew that it was not this of which the Gahlot had been speaking.

"And you have hurt some of those you care for and who care for you."

Surrender. It was a foreign concept, even now. "I know."

"What will you do about it?" Vathek tweaked his lips in sympathy and placed a large hand on Caleb's shoulder. "I know you do not know. I know that you are tired."

"It is the new unrest," the human said, though halfheartedly at best.

"Or perhaps it is because you have grown weary of your masks and coats," Vathek answered. "It is no great shame. You are young, and you have been through much. Sometimes I wonder-" But he did not finish the thought. His expression was sad, though, and his shoulders seemed even heavier than they were.

It was a curiosity that Caleb did not want to ponder.

"But how do I fix this?" he asked instead. "I should know how to fix this!"

To his offence (and no little bewilderment), Vathek laughed.

It was no great bout of laughter, no jolly chortling or robust episode that ended with the Gahlot half bowed to the floor. Yet, it was laughter, though short and somewhat bitter, that echoed from the balcony. Even Blunk stared at the jailer with a frown.

"Caleb, dear boy," Vathek finally said, though Caleb had long been no boy. "No one ever knows, really."

The youth's lips pressed themselves into a tight line. "What do you mean?"

"Life is complicated and rarely are answers so ever well known," came the reply. "In my experience much of what is done, even that which is planned, ends up being spontaneous in any case."

"Because spontaneous actions will solve my problem."

"I mean you do not need to be so hard on yourself that you cannot think of a solution now." Vathek looked at him. "Your father was never able to think of everything all the time. By Meridian's Heart, if he had then you would have never come to think this of yourself. But he did not think there would be an ambush. He did not think when that woman seduced him. He could not know everything, and he still does not. This is what it is to be alive, Caleb. We cannot always think ourselves out of danger and into safety. We cannot know every possibility there is to know or prepare for them. We cannot always think of ways to dig ourselves out of the holes our mistakes make.

"It is hard, sometimes, to accept this," Vathek continued. "When we are young, we see the adults in our lives through a sort of tinted glass. To children they seem sure and reassured, all-knowing and invulnerable, and so we as children strive to imitate them. Who does not wish to be invulnerable to life's many hardships? So, it is no surprise that children seek to be strong, that they seek to be taken seriously, and that they seek the knowledge all adults appear to have. In times of hardship, in times of tyranny and war, this becomes all the more true – I witnessed it amongst the children of our Rebellion desperate to change their poor situation. Yet, it is common with other children too even in times of peace, this needing to know everything. It worsens with age. The older children get, the more they think they need know, the more they think they are or need to be prepared for whatever might happen. They think they need all the answers, but you are an adult now, Caleb. You cannot think that way anymore."

"But I-" What denial could he give? That he had been grown when he first lifted a sword against an enemy? When he had first killed? When he had almost been killed for the first time and all the times after that?

"It is never good to bring children into war," Vathek said heavily. "And in that way we have wronged you. Your father and I and everyone else who asked you to spy, to fight, to lead did you wrong. But sometimes such wrong is necessary when the wrong that causes such wrong is more wrong. We were at war, a civil war in which we were sorely outnumbered and out positioned with fewer resources and almost no ability to keep ourselves safe, let alone any others. What else did we have but too willing children?"

Regret, Caleb thought, was an ugly thing. Not because it was felt alongside guilt or because it cast doubt on otherwise certain decisions, but because to see regret in someone so proud was to see a hero be impaled upon their own sword. It was painful, the sort of pain that Caleb did not want to comprehend. Even now, as weary as he was, he strove to alleviate this travesty.

"It was my choice," he said. "I wanted to fight. You did not force me to do anything."

"It is true that if you had said no when we asked, we would have let you be." Vathek exhaled. It was no great breath nor any small one. Just a breath, just as these were words, "But you, Caleb, are incapable of saying no when it comes to helping those who truly need it. We knew this and still we asked."

The implication there laid heavily atop everything else. It could not be ignored nor denied. Caleb wilted a little at it.

A large hand descended on his shoulder once again. "There is no shame in asking for help when you are lost."

The human picked at the bandage on his arm, thinking though everything in his head. He thought of his father are the Rebellion and this new one that seemed in its formative years. He thought of flowers, of rosemary and roses and white ruffled petals dripping in blood. He thought of _her,_ briefly, sparingly, even now too much a coward, too much afraid to confront that part of him where _she_ rested. Glancing back into his room, Caleb spied that strange flower his love had gifted him. Finally letting go of Blunk, he let his head fall into his hands. "What do I do?"

"Usually when a man offends a pretty lady, they muster up the courage to apologise," Vathek said. "But perhaps you should speak to your father first."

"Why?"

"Because, unlike her, he is already here. He _is_ angry, Caleb," came the response. "You have one parent. You do not want that relationship to sour. You do not want any of your relationships to sour – I have known loneliness and it is more tiring and desperate than almost anything else. To live your entire life alone would be a tragic thing indeed, especially when all you had to do was reach out a hand to meet another's halfway. The existence of parents should not be taken lightly. You may find your father can help you with your young lady as well."

They were fair points, and yet…

"You will need to talk to him about your mother eventually, and you may as well start now." There was some sympathy on Vathek's face, but only a little. It was mostly stern. "No once can evade anything forever. Even I was caught eventually."

There, that was the rabbit hole he wished he never had to travel down. Yet, had he not already fallen too far? Fear upon fear was layered around that word, that singular word most people could speak in normalcy. Could he be like _her_? How much? Would he succumb to that same lust for power and insanity? If so, then perhaps these new rebels were justified, perhaps it was _them_ who had done wrong, even in their attempt to do right. Madness bred madness, and none had seemed so mad as that woman who called him hers.

A great feeling surged up inside of him, threatening to turn his innards inside out. It was worse than the queasiness he had gotten upon making his first kill, worse than all the times he had been caught and made to spend hours speculating about his fate. It was worse than the times when a blade had come too close to his neck, when rope had wound its way around it, when hands had circled it to squeeze. His chest constricted in harmony with his tightening throat, breaths now coming short and quick. The world seemed to heat, then cool in rapid succession. His wounded arm itched. His teeth ground tight. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, biting, biting, until green hands slipped forth to loosen them. Blunk blinked at his friend in gentle sympathy, giving him a wavering smile.

"Let go of your mask, Caleb. Let go of the Commander's coat," Vathek said, not unkindly. "They were thrust upon you when you were young, too young perhaps. It is alright to want to let them go."

And perhaps that was the permission Caleb had been waiting for all these years, the affirmation that he did not have to be the one to lead them through all the ruins of the world. It was a heavy burden. Surely no one had been meant to carry it alone, surely not. It was too much for a man, too much for a boy, and he had been a boy. Only a boy.

Perhaps, perhaps….

"There you are," Vathek murmured. "Steady now."

His breaths were deeper now, slower than before. The young human fidgeted with his hands. Worried his lips with his teeth. Thought of his father, hurt and mad. "What do I say to him?"

"An apology is always a good way to start." The Gahlot paused. "And, Caleb, you also need to think on this: do you truly want to be responsible for the safety of all of Meridian and all of its people for all the time you are alive?"

He was shaking, but for once he did not care. Exhaustion had ripped his defences down and now his mind was under siege by all the things it had suppressed, a rebellion against itself that cast great rents in his ability to cope. That question- He did not want to answer it. "Let me be alone."

The other shook his head in disappointment. "Caleb, you shutting yourself off to be alone is why you are in this mess in the first place."

"I have Blunk." Blunk, who had never asked him something he had never known he could say no to, who had never thrust him a coat to wear in front of hundreds of others while somewhere a rope was added to the gallows for him. Caleb shuddered. "Just let me be."

Vathek knew when not to push. He also knew when his words had taken root and won. This was no victory that he relished in, however, though it was a necessary one. He did not sigh or make a further comment. Instead he did as bid, his footsteps quiet, his eyes fixed straight.

The door shut behind the Galhot and the youth stared out at the sky.

"Caleb?" Two thin arms twinned themselves around him and squeezed. Caleb turned to bury his face in Blunk's head. He cried.

It was a good cry. All those tight knots inside of him came undone and let flow what they had been holding back. What he had in some ways never realised they had been holding back (and what, in other ways, he had known all along). There was a certain catharsis to it too, a type of mourning even if he did not know exactly what it was that he was mourning.

In the end, the episode did not last long. The sky itself had scarcely turned its entirety to blue. Blunk's head was damp, but like any friend, he merely offered one questionably procured handkerchief to allow Caleb to dry his eyes.

"Is Caleb well?"

He looked at Blunk and a still watery smile graced his melancholy lips. "I don't think so."

There was too much to name just then, too many things to consider in depth that he had shied from considering before and did not wish to consider further. Yet, there was one thing he could do in the morning of that new day; his father, though angry, still did reside in the palace walls.

It would be a lie to say Caleb's feelings on this matter were not mixed. In one way, the youth wished to remain with Blunk and ignore all those who had cheered him on for many years as their leader. In another, he simply wanted to avoid any memory of _her._ Perhaps there was a selfish part of him too that wished for a father's comfort, but, by and large, there was love and a longing to right this wrong at least.

Mind made up, Caleb relinquished the borrowed handkerchief back to its owner and pushed him away from the window. Back into the depths of his room he wandered, a little unsteady on his feet despite himself. Blunk hopped immediately to his side, a slight presence and yet steadying for that he was there. A green hand splayed quickly at one thigh and Caleb regained his footing none the worse for wear, allowing him the banal contemplation of his boots.

 _I have gone bootless before,_ he reasoned and so left them where they stood half at attention. He did retrieve a warmer shirt and, after a moment's pause, his loyal coat. Then it was through is door and into the belly of the palace once more.

Some innate instinct slowly led the youth to the palace gardens and to a particular secluded corner, that same corner from all those months ago. Yet, it was not as he remembered.

Every inch of the ground seemed covered in flowers. Crimson roses tangled with red faced poppies. Hyacinth bloomed in all its purple glory. There was rosemary and ferns and snowdrops. Even a single daffodil, its yellow head a lonely splash of colour amongst all the white and red and purple and green. So many flowers and many more he could not name as though something (or someone) had suddenly torn through the garden in a great wave of growth. The overall affect, however, was a solemn one. Dead leaves crunched beneath his feet making Caleb momentarily regret his forgoing of shoes.

Still, he pushed himself on, Blunk staying loyally by his side. It did not take long for the young human's eyes to rest themselves upon the broad shoulders of his father, shoulders which were turned from him though the man must have heard his coming across the leaf strewn ground. Caleb stopped. Swallowed. What to say? What to say?

What had Vathek said?

"Sorry."

Julian still did not turn, made no indication at all that he was listening. Yet, he had to be. He was Caleb's father and he had to be. _He has to be…_

"I am sorry," Caleb said again, his eyes dropping from the man's back to the ground. "I… To say you do not know what your duty is was wrong. I was wrong. I should not have lashed out at you as I did."

Silence met each sentence, each word, each admission hanging in the air like mist on morning air. There was a stillness to the moment that Caleb often could not find. It was not peaceful, but it was not the stillness that came in the seconds before battle or he was found by enemy guards. This could be worked through, could be turned towards another kinder peace. In the depths of his being Caleb found the subtle flame of hope.

The youth dropped to the ground, his tired legs finding relief at as his weight was removed from them. He did not press up against his father nor did he turn away from him exactly. Instead he contended himself with simply being near the man, allowing Julian the chance to acknowledge or ignore him as he felt. Caleb would not push this. Knew not to even if every nerve inside of him was singing.

"I am sorry, father, for what I have said and done to hurt you."

For a while nothing more was said. Blunk played off to the side with the bowed heads of snowdrops and the ferns that curled around them. Several birds fluttered by, more numerous butterflies lazily drifting past the many flowers that bloomed, and the flowers themselves glittered with dew when Caleb looked closer, each petal shimmering like the jewels Queen Elyon wore. The yellow daffodil stood in vast contrast to everything else, a bright smudge in that solemn place. In a way, it made the whole place solemner. The young human worried the tips of his fingers and tried to ignore the way the deep silence bit into him.

He had never been much good at waiting. Not really. Even in those moments where absolute stillness meant the difference between life and death his heart had always thumped inside his chest to the beat of a thousand feet marching out of sync. It was like an itch he could not scratch and now that itch was itching again.

But he was resolved to wait. However long it took, he would wait.

The seconds stretched into minutes and the minutes into something more. Perhaps an entire world could have been born and grown and died in that time, or perhaps time simply seemed longer than it had any right too as anxiety began to gnaw more insistently at Caleb's heart. He fidgeted more with his fingers, groping at some fallen leaves before beginning to pull the Queen's grass up blade by blade. There were more words leaping at his throat, anxious and eager to get out. Yet, they would do little to help the situation. He had said his piece and now it was on his father to say his own piece if he felt the need.

 _He will speak. He will speak. He will speak._ A mantra started almost unconsciously in his mind, fed by visions of blood and mines and faces that were far too pitying to a child. It was irrational, perhaps, but as he waited Caleb felt the stirrings of an old fear. Being orphaned once was hard enough.

So it was that the youth could help himself no longer. "Father…"

A pause. A long pause. Then finally, _finally_ his father turned.

There were dark circles under Julian's eyes. It seemed he had not slept the past night. "What do you want?"

Caleb fought back a wince at the callous tone. "I wanted to apologise for what I said before and I want to talk."

"Truly?" It was a toneless word and Caleb realised something else that made his heart clench in more pain than it did at his dreams. And yet, was there not always a point where a man finally considered giving up?

"Yes."

Julian straightened a little at the sincerity behind the single word, the maturity and solemnness behind it. A little light seemed to return to his eyes. "Then speak."

Caleb did. He repeated what he had said before, every word heartfelt. Soon he descended into the gushing ramble of a speaking brook as some wall inside him broke, fractured by the need for words, the need for him to fill this silence no one else could fill for him. There was a crack inside of him. There was a crack in his mask and a hole in his coat and, damn Vathek, for neither one fit so well any longer.

"I am sorry," he said. "I was…afraid."

Arms came to gather the youth even as his head bowed beneath the weight of that admission. "Oh, my son," Julian said. "I know. I know."

A butterfly fluttered by Caleb's eyes. He followed it, watching as its blue wings rose and fell like a leaf caught on the breeze. His breath caught in his chest, though he did not sob.

"I know you are sorry. I know you were afraid," Julian continued. "I was afraid. I was afraid for so long that it seemed I would never not be afraid again, that I would never again know life without that fear. I am still afraid. It is a great fiend. It breaks and cripples and silences," he said, brushing a hand against the jaw of his son. "My dear Caleb, know that you are not alone in being afraid. It is not a failing. It is not a weakness unless you let it become one."

"But I don't want to be afraid," Caleb cried. "I hate it!"

His father sighed. "We all hate it, but there comes a time when we must deal with it. You said you would listen to me, Caleb. Will you?"

His son nodded, drawing back from the other's embrace. Blunk had disappeared somewhere and the rest of the garden was filled only with birds and bees and quaint butterflies. Together the two men sat, one young and one old, a moment of quiet sitting between them until the right words were found.

"You have admitted you are afraid," Julian said, taking his son's hands up as much to offer comfort as to stop nails from potentially biting flesh. "That is a good step. It is a step you should have taken months ago, before it came to what it did. To keep it bottled up let it fester, let it seep into more of you and you lashed out because of it towards those who deserved it not. You will need to face her again, but now is not the time. Now you listen to me." He paused. Took a breath. "I want you to answer my questions honestly. Just this once, just this morning, answer me honestly. Do not try to hide or evade. If it is too uncomfortable, too sensitive, then you have my word I will cease that line of questioning, but I want you to at least try. Do not keep things bottled up anymore."

Each word stung like an insistent wasp, like a whole hive of them. They were hard to hear, but not untrue. With each syllable they raked up and overturned what Caleb had used to bury several things deep within himself, forcing him to stare at what peeped through each rent. None of it had yet overrun him, none had even stepped fully into the light, and yet he could feel himself longing to draw away and run, like a coward, instead of confronting what was inside him. That his heart still seemed raw from his talk with Vathek did not help. But his father had asked him to listen, so he would do so for as long as he could.

Julian waited until his son nodded to continue. "You were afraid before. Was it just fear? Or was it anger too?"

A breath. "There was anger too."

"Why were you angry?"

"I…" It took some effort not to brush the question off. He thought for a moment, considering his response. Several things looked back at him through those internal cracks and he picked the one he was most comfortable with sharing. "I dislike being injured."

His father's thumbs stroked the top of his hands. He almost smiled. "I dislike you being injured too. Was that what made you angry, being injured and confined to bed?"

"Yes," said Caleb. It was the root of his frustrations at least, the least of those being the physical injury itself. He was helpless in such a state, a thing he had never liked being. He was agitated, restless, kept from doing what he needed even as he was reminded that there was an urgent need for things to be done, that there were rebels rising against rebels in a new civil war – or the budding hints of one, in any case – with him on the opposite side. It was a restriction on his ability to fulfill these needs, to protect his friends and family and home, to save those who were innocent and good. And, if Caleb dug a little deeper, he was also angry that he had to need to do the very same thing. He exhaled. "In part."

Honest, complete and vulnerable honesty was hard.

"Were you angry with me?" Julian asked.

His son bowed his head. "A little."

"Why?"

There was, thankfully, no hurt to his father's tone, only a near detached insistence. It was easier to deal with, Caleb found. Guilt could not swallow him up so fully.

Trying to mimic the same tone, he replied, "You were pushing, and I did not want you to push."

Thumbs stroked the tops of his hands again as Julian paused for a moment, mulling this over. "I apologise for pushing you to anger," he said at last in earnest. He did not continue until his son had acknowledged these words and genuine acceptance of the apology showed in his countenance. "If it is not pushing too far, will you tell me what it is that you did not want me to push?"

Caleb did not meet his eyes. "I think you know."

Julian was silent for a while. Then he said, "You know I cannot let this go completely."

"I know."

"Perhaps we can set aside some moments every week or so to sit together without any interruptions," he suggested, a touch uncertain. "Or someone else, perhaps? Vathek would be a good choice. There would be no need to talk every time, but it may provide a chance for you to calm yourself and collect your thoughts. To reflect on several aspects of yourself and what they mean."

It was a big ask to those cracked parts inside of Caleb, a big ask when his mask had cracked and hung loose around his neck. He was unsure how to respond.

"It would be a chance for you to relax as well, to let go of your-" A swallow. "Duties. To care for yourself in place of caring for others, just in those moments." His father cupped his jaw, stroked his cheeks. "Talking can help, son. It has helped me. It has helped many others I know. Even just a little here and there can provide immense relief from keeping it all held close inside of you. At least once. Will you do this for me and for yourself at least once? Will you try?"

It was a lot to ask. A lot to promise. His hands were shaking again. "I can try."

Larger hands cupped his, let them shake with company instead of alone. "Thank you." More earnest words. An earnest face before him. The corners of a pair of eyes crinkled briefly in a smile of relief before fading to a strange, but not disconcerting blankness. "Are you afraid right now?"

Caleb closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Can I ask why you are afraid?"

It was not an answer that Caleb wished to give, not an answer he was sure he knew himself. Suddenly, his tongue felt too heavy and his being too weary to continue. He shook his head. "I am tired." And from more than just the little sleep he had gotten the previous night.

Julian drew the youth into his arms, holding him close and pressing his lips to the other's forehead. The gesture soothed Caleb's nerves a little.

"It is alright," he said. "We do not need to talk of it now. Now we can just sit."

So that was what they did. Blunk had well and truly gone by then, no sign of hide nor hair of him to be seen in the garden. Off to where he had gone the two humans had little idea, but it mattered not. The smuggler would be back when needed just as he always was.

It was nice to share in the mutual quiet, Caleb thought. It was a welcome change of tone to how things had been going for him in the past however many weeks. His mind cast him back to the day by the lake, Vathek and Tynar fishing with his father, Drake attempting to play that miserable lute of his. The moment had been peaceful, even if only for a little while. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would not be so bad to have several more moments like it despite the readiness of the world to fall to pieces around him.

But with good memories came the worse ones, and Caleb could not help the frown that overcame him at them. Swords and bars and mud and rain, the worry of a child whose father had not returned, the worry of a son who imagined a blood covered room behind a closed door. There was the worry of a leader and the worry of a boy, though they seemed more distant than they sometimes were. Instead, the images sped through his mind like Hay Lin flew through wind. Fast, vivid, but never there too long. A large presence, but able to be deciphered and viewed by his mind. There came a crazy lady, a returned tyrant, a man running from a snake-like Lord who was not there. There came the faces of the ghosts that sometimes haunted his dreams. This time he stared back at them, thinking on more than what they meant.

A glance proved his father was staring musingly up at the sky, pondering some thought or the other known only to him. His countenance was as strong as it ever was. Vathek's words from earlier that morning floated about his head, joined by words Julian himself had spoken. Perhaps, Caleb thought, perhaps it could not hurt to ask.

"Do you ever see…flashes of those moments when you were most afraid?"

"I can still feel the blood of my closest childhood friend on my hands if I think about it," Julian replied. "You learn not to think about it. You teach yourself to dwell on other, better things, like reconnecting with a son or playing a lute or making a new future with a beautiful girl."

 _Cornelia-_ Caleb inhaled sharply. He had erred there too. "Do they ever go away completely?"

"No." A crushing word for a crushing blow.

What sadistic force of life would enjoy making those exposed to the world's horrors relive those same horrors over and over again? What happiness could be gleaned from such a thing? Sometimes, for all there were those who tried, the world did not make sense save that it seemed a giant chaotic mess with its endless cycle of tyrants, and madmen and madwomen all seeking to join in the dancing to that incessant, inharmonic song that reverberated through every particle of life. Why, oh, why had they been granted such a treacherous thing?

"But you can learn to live with them," came his father's steady voice. "They will fade if you let them. They will not grip you so wholly if you can begin to let them go. There will be days it is worse, but there will be better days as well. There are always better days."

There it was, that thing called hope. Maybe it was not such a bad thing. Yet…

The youth frowned again, staring at the green around him and thinking of the green within his own eyes. Could there be hope for such evil? The woman who had given them to him was now locked away, trapped in a fantasy she enjoyed and yet trapped all the same with no hope of escaping. When he had held the piece of jewelry in his hands, he could feel the badness in it too. He had felt that wrongness which had permeated that madwoman's mind and twisted all the ideas she had alongside the power she wielded to something that hurt others. His father had not felt it, nor anyone else who had come to hold that cursed thing. Perhaps it had all been in his head, nerves and adrenaline still raging inside him, but perhaps-

Lips pressed to his head again, gentle and fatherly. Wise eyes smiled sadly at him as they had tended to do recently. "What is on your mind?" 

"I…" He tried again, the words stilted. "She…" Now that misplaced anger was not driving him the words were harder to get out. Still, his father seemed to understand.

"You are not your mother," he said.

Caleb nodded, releasing his taut breath. "I know." He did, though the doubt was still there. Perhaps his fears would one day fade with the memories of that woman. Perhaps all those memories he feared would fade. One day. Or not one day at all.

He was too exhausted to cry again. Too strained mentally and emotionally to do more than simply lean against his father and wonder at why life had to be as it was. His hands sought the ground and for a little while the world felt a little steadier, a little less likely to blow away in the wind.

How he missed her.

The daffodil bobbed amidst the rest of the mess of the garden and it seemed it a little happier than before. Perhaps he would bring it to her when he apologised.

The sun had risen fully by now, whole and happy in the sky. The castle was being to grow louder as its everyday bustle began anew. Maids scurried about emptying halls. Cooks tasted the filling to their pies. Prisoners turned in their cells and raged at the world and each other. A young queen blearily went to her morning council flanked by her advisers. Guards changed duty upon the walls, talking in hushed tones of the new impending mayhem that simmered on the horizon and what would come of it this time round.

"What will you do now?"

The words came like a knife through butter and Caleb fought not to turn his head away. It had brought the world back to its full clarity and with it all the woes he wished to escape, all the duties he had to do and had to want to do. All the duties he would do if a sword were placed in his hand.

"We on the brink of another civil war, Caleb. If you are to fight, then we need you here, now," his father said.

Caleb hesitated.

There was that question again that Vathek had asked before, that damning one he had no desire to answer. It tore his mind in two, threw it into disarray as it sought to shake the foundation on which he had made himself stand. In truth it did more than seek; there were tremors and there were earthquakes, and this was the latter. To contemplate it for too long, to give it too much power and he would see every building he had ever built inside himself, every home and wall leveled to a simple plain. Could a daffodil survive such a thing? Would a daffodil be all that survived? Or would the floodgates open to a torrent of everything he tried to repress? It was a gamble, a confrontation that Caleb did not want to risk. How could he answer? How could he choose when faces stared at him from inside his own mind with eyes half pleading and half accusing him of things he had done and had yet to do? Yet, in his heart of hearts that ran deeper than even Meridian's own, he knew what the answer was.

* * *

 **Hopefully this chapter lived up to your standards at least a little. Not sure at all about the quality of the second half of it. Vathek ended up being a great help in figuring it out. Just one more to go. Please leave a review. I love hearing what you guys think.**


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